Guardian of the Moon Pendant (7 page)

Why me?

I had it all planned out, my whole life, my career, education, marriage, even children, all set on a course, a straight path to happiness.

My plan was now gone, destroyed by the stone faeries, lost to the Moon Pendant.

Bleary eyed, I saw an image of a hand reaching toward me, strong, powerful, scooping me up into his muscular arms, cradling me in security. I whimpered silently to myself.

I surrendered.

Chapter 5

♦♦♦

Anabel

My head throbbed, cruelly, gnawing across my brow; its anguish never-ending, until a cool compress pressed
lightly
upon my forehead, soothing my pain. I sighed with comfort, slowly the calming sensation spread to all my extremities, relieving them of their aches and pains. A stranger raised my arm into the air, gently pouring an oily scrub onto my skin, tickling my nose with the scents of citrus and lavender. Its crystals massage
d
deep into my sore muscles, my body finally felt at ease, and I fell into a blissful slumber.

When I finally awoke, at first, I thought it was from the sweet aroma of the fire, crackling and popping loudly, like a handful of children playing ball in the streets. But then, I heard strange voices.

“The stone faeries were relentless last night,” shrilled a feminine voice. “I haven’t seen a Guardian that bloodied since...”

“Rose?” said a deep male voice.

“I’m sorry, Sentinel, I shouldn’t have brought her up,” said the feminine voice. “She sure looks like her twin
though
.”

My eyes opened to a stone room, lush with colored tapestries, lit by golden candlelight, and deadly weapons fastened to the walls. The furniture was thick and deep, overly stuffed cushions, upholstered with a swirling purple pattern. 

“The lass has awoken; have Slu bring the food in,” ordered the male voice.

Bracing myself with my arms and shifting my weight, I sat up on the lumpy couch, smelling of soot. My head was still foggy. Where am I? I rubbed my two fingertips into my temples. 

I gazed up to see a silhouette approaching me, his sizable mass blocking the light from the fireplace, tall and broad, commanding, the soft light glistening off his muscular arms.
He was dressed like a Scottish H
ighlander, a tartan draped across his robust chest, a knee-length kilt, and a furry sporran suspended from his belt.

I quickly forgot my pains as my heart began to beat to the rhythm of a tribal drum.

He pulled out a high backed chair and sat on its edge, smiling with his bright eyes, showing me a tray of food covered with sweet cakes, creams and jams. 

“A feast for yer eyes,” he said sweetly.

My mouth dropped open, staring at his chiseled jaw and dimpled chin.

“Please eat.”

He was magnificent, a true Adonis with his golden skin, long brown silken hair; even his 5 o’clock shadow was perfect.

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I was a mess. My heart began to race faster, sweaty palms, butterflies in my stomach, and a mouth as dry as the desert. I was losing control. I clamped my lips shut, inching away from him, and shook my head ‘no.’

Politely, he grinned and placed the tray next to a bowl of fruit on a small mahogany table. He quickly snatched a juicy plum.

“Don’t mind if I do, lass?” he said winking at me and then biting into the succulent plum, its juices dribbling down his chin.

Is this guy for real?

Boldly, I took my chance, reaching my arm out toward his, carefully hovering over his forearm, fingers dangling, and pinched him.

“
Auch
, lass!” he howled, rubbing his arm.

I felt as if I was living a dream, but this was no dream.

He was real.

“Who,” I mumbled stumbling on my words, “
wh-
who are you?”

“Aye, that’s a firm grip you got there, lass,” he said, shifting back into the chair, his kilt’s hem grazing above his strong knees.

“I said,”
raising
my voice louder, “who are you?”

He smirked. “Not the enemy!” I melted with his words, hoping they were true.

Then I scanned the room again, trying to figure out where I was. The stone walls were crammed with ancient and historic portraits, filled with musty old crones, their faces darned with bushy beards, their bodies adorned with plaid kilts, their hands bearing lethal weapons, sharp and shiny, ready for the kill, in the corner an array of armor suits, ready to be worn and sent into battle, not a trace of the 21st century to be seen, not even a computer in
sight
.

Computer: Edgar!

Suddenly, I felt woozy. I raised my hand up, my fingers splaying outward, verifying my engagement ring was still there. I sighed with relief. It was still there.  A shiver ran up my spine with the sudden reality that my clothing was shredded, soiled and pocked with holes.

Then I remembered… I was attacked.

“The Moon Pendant will have to be charged again,” the Highlander said nonchalantly, rubbing the juice off his lower lip with the back of his hand.

The Moon Pendant! I glided my fingertips over my chest, feeling the pendant’s stones, its tendrils still drilled into my skin.

“Tea?” he said dotingly, holding up a silver tea pot, tilting it to the side, its steamy contents pouring out into a chipped cup.

I craned my neck to the left, eyeing the door, a quick exit, and then returned to a natural position, noticing a shiny claymore fastened to the wall.

“Until then you must rest,” he stated humbly, turning to me, offering me a cup of tea.

I forced myself to smile crookedly, wanting to believe him, but my senses were raging out of control. I knew I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, and all I wanted to do was to run – and to run fast!

A footstep echoed from down the hall, thumping loudly, clanging and rattling chains, its sound growing closer and closer. The Highlander peered over his shoulder happily.

From the darkened hallway appeared a gruesome faery with a contorted shape, crinkly grey flesh covered in dark bluish feathers, it only had one bulbous eye, its weight teetering on one skinny leg, and a single frail arm clenching onto rusty chains and shackles.

“I’z found rusty chains, Sentinel!” grunted the creature, spitting out blue saliva.

A mouthful of bile rose in my mouth and I gulped it back down, cringing. I knew what they were going to do to me and that was to make me their prisoner!

Swiftly, I leapt to my feet, landing on the floor, unsheathing the claymore on the wall, whirling it around my head in one swift motion, accidentally nicking the Highlander in his sculpted shoulder.

I stopped, feet spread wide, standing my ground, the sword steadied in my arms.

The heinous blue faery cocked his head at me, blinking repeatedly with his one bloodshot eye, tapping his big hairy toe, and then curling his bent mouth into a smile as if I reminded him of someone.

“I will not be taken as your prisoner!” I yelled, prodding the tip of the sword toward the Highlander’s mammoth chest. “Get back, Highlander,” I growled with a firm muscle working in my jaw.

“Guardian?” he uttered as if he knew me.

I tightened my grip around the claymore’s hilt, fixing the blade up toward his neck, waiting for a chance to run. “It’s Anabel!” I said through gritted teeth.

“Rose?” echoed the strange faery, creeping towards with me with his wart covered hand outstretched.

“Anabel,” the Highlander
said softly, hands open, gesturing to the one legged faery holding the chains,
“
these are from the
c
astle’s dungeon.”

My nostrils widened as I sidestepped away from him, slowly backing up to the arched doorway.

“They are not for you, lass,” he argued. “There’s a secret room we’ve just found, and Slu has been searching it. That’s all.”

I almost believed him until another faery materialized behind him. This time it was a woman just about five feet tall, her back hunched over, a pointy nose, her body set ablaze in a golden aura. “Guardian,” she said, nodding at me.

“BACK!”
I screamed, jerking the lethal claymore toward all of them. “I’ve got a black belt in karate, and I know how to bring down a man twice your size!”

“Another neurotic Guardian,” cackled the female faery. “She won’t last past the Bloody Baron.”

“Lass,” the Highlander said, pausing to take a deep breath, correcting himself, “Anabel, lower your weapon. We’re all friends here.”

Backing up, I advanced toward the exit, holding up the steel edged claymore, its blade glimmering in the light.

“You’re Harry’s daughter, right?”

I flinched for a second. How does he know my mother?

“Your grandmother,” he eased his way toward me, arms open wide, his eyes still intoxicating, still…  “She sent you to…”

“Granny!”
I blurted out loud as if I had completely forgotten why I was in Scotland. I bolted through the ornately curved door, my feet racing down the hallway, my fists balled around the claymore’s hilt, passing rooms filled with books and cobwebs, its tomes piled high with disregarded dreams.

My hand clasped onto the main door’s iron handle, yanking it open full force. A cold blast of fresh air flushed against my rosy cheeks.

I was free.

Swiftly, my feet skipped down a cobblestone walkway, expanding onto a footbridge, over a dark and murky moat, spewing with dark foam. I chucked the claymore into the high grass, running down the hill, panicked, wondering what had become of Granny.

♦

Anxiously, I tumbled through the dew-drenched grass, hoping to reach Granny in time, tripping over jagged rocks, picking myself up again until I reached the bottom of the hill.

That’s when I saw him, the Ankou, a collector of bodies, the man they call death, cloaked in darkness, standing beside a smoldering motorcycle, his sidecar a coffin made of bones. A skeleton of a
mangy
dog sat obediently, wagging its scrawny tail inside the sidecar, a black tongue lapping out of its mouth, panting hard, its fur patched randomly about his body, exposing its shriveled skeletal frame.

The Ankou’s eyes were sullen, black, and fixed onto me. “I’m just here for the body,” he stated in a low raspy voice, tapping the base of his scythe on the soft ground, holding it like a sword in his withered hand. “The spirit’s not my jurisdiction.”

“Body?”
I froze, whimpering to myself.
“Granny?”

He threw his leg over the sheepskin seat, his leather cloak billowing up, planting himself firmly on his ride, his hands gripping the accelerator, gassing the engine, the bike growled in heat, while plumes of black smoke puffed out from the exhaust.

His skeleton-like head turned toward me. “I’ll see you in the end,” he muttered, “sure enough.”

The bike reared back, spewing smoke, spinning wheels, and raced over the heather hills and into the inky night, hovering above the ground like a spacecraft from a distant planet.

My right
foot kicked open
the front door of the farmhouse.
“Granny?”
I cried, hurdling up the stairs into her vacant room. I searched the house, desperate to find Granny, somewhere, anywhere, poking my head into every room, exploring every closet, diving under beds, and coming up empty.

“She’s gone,” I sighed, my weakened body dropping to my knees, “she’s dead.”

A shadow flashed before my eyes, swooping down behind me, I swerved around to see an illuminated version of Granny floating high above the floor, her face smiling brightly.

“Don’t be silly, Anabel,” she said scolding me, “I’m not dead, I’m a ghost!”

My eyes rolled back into my head, trying to escape the madness.

My body fainted, smashing my head against the floor with a sickening thud and then all I saw was black.

Chapter 6

♦♦♦

Anabel

My world was spiraling out of control. A parasitic pendant was embedded deep into my breast bone, draining all my energy. Granny was dead. I was attacked by stone faeries, trying to steal the power of the Moon Pendant. A devilishly handsome warrior rescued me, protecting me, making me question my promise to Edgar. The Ankou whisked Granny’s body away in a bone-encrusted coffin, and now all that was left of her were wisps of lig
ht, a vaporous cloud of spirit, a
ghost. I dared not to open my eyes, fearing that it could get worse.

I don’t remember how long I lay in bed in a catatonic state, my covers bundled under my chin, my fingers white knuckled, my eyes flashing visions of snorting faeries looming over me, prodding me with wooden spoons, forcing me to drink green foam, as they wiped away the drool from my mouth.

The voices were hushed at first, mere whispers, but soon enough they grew louder, bringing me up to consciousness.