Lynn Wood - Norman Brides 03 (18 page)

Some part of Michel’s weary mind and pain-wracked body comprehended he was in the unrelenting grip of his nightmares, but though his body slept there was no lessening of his weariness or his pain.  He couldn’t recall what brought him to this place, nor did he understand clearly where it was he lingered.  Violent memories intruded on his thoughts of war and blood, of dying men and dismembered limbs strewn about like so much refuse on the blood soaked earth.  If he possessed the strength he would have covered his ears to drown out the sounds of the ghastly, agonized cries of the wounded and dying, lying unattended, staring up at the pitiless sun just beginning to traverse its daily path across the heavens, while their comrades contested above where they lay for their own lives.

Other less strident sounds whispered across his consciousness….voices…feminine voices, and just as he didn’t possess the strength to block out the screams of the dying, neither did he possess enough to cling to the gentle strains of the familiar feminine voices. He thought he heard the echo of his twin’s beloved voice among the whispers, “…then when you pray for death I will refuse you the comfort of its release…”

“Melissa…” The name formed on his lips and escaped in a hushed whisper between them.  Michel had no way of knowing of the pain his twin’s name inflicted on the soft companion who knelt beside his bed, her hand closed around his.

Other voices muscled their way into his chaotic dreams.  Some demanding, others caring, some amused even, but they were all united in the expectations they heaped on his back.  He had a part to play in their destiny and they had every reasonable anticipation of him fulfilling his debt for their faith in him.  Beneath the clamor of their voices, was another whisper, this one barely discernible to his dazed spirit. It was soft and gentle and he somehow recognized it belonged to the small hand joined with his own.

“Elena…”

This time a soft cry echoed at his whispered recognition and the hand covering his closed more tightly around his fist.  He thought he heard his name on her lips, and then he felt her rest her head against his chest and was aware of her tears cleaning the stain of violence from his skin and his battered spirit. He reached up his other arm to stroke, to offer comfort, and to thread his fingers through the silky hair teasing his naked skin where the long strands lay across his bare chest.  Content, he sighed heavily and fell into a deep, restful sleep.

A new, yet vaguely familiar voice woke him from his restful sleep, but this voice was accompanied by a misty form standing at the end of his bed, regarding Michel with a considering, speculative look in his eyes.

“Who are you?” Michel wasn’t certain if he voiced the words aloud or not, but the stranger did not seem to have any trouble understanding him.

“Ah, you are awake at last.  I was beginning to think I would be forced to return to your sister with unpleasant news.” 

The voice struck a familiar chord but in his dazed state, Michel could not remember when or where he had encountered the stranger.  When the answer continued to elude him, he asked, “My sister sent you?”

“She requested I accompany you on your return to your grandfather’s kingdom, as she could not.”

Michel sighed, not certain he wanted to know how it was the stranger’s path had crossed that of his reckless twin’s. “You speak of Melissa.”

“Yes, I am not acquainted with your younger sister, Lady Rhiann.  Though our destinies have intersected upon occasion, for the most part they were rather distant exchanges.”

“You are more intimately acquainted with my twin, then?”

“I am not certain I would refer to our acquaintance as intimate, but yes, we have known each other many years.” There was amused self-mockery in the stranger’s voice and in his manner that Michel found difficult to comprehend in his current weakened state.

“Then how is it we have never met?”

“That is easy enough to understand, my young king.  You were not present at any of my previous encounters with your twin, except the first one when your sister went over the falls in a boat she could not control.”

Michel shook his head, protesting, “That was years ago, when we were children.”

“Yes, I remember the occasion quite well and your lovely twin’s determination to keep up with you.” The stranger laughed, apparently enjoying his recollection of the day he referred to. “She was most upset at the thought of being left behind, so she pushed the last remaining boat from the side of the river bank and barely managed to catch a hold of it and climb in and seat herself before her little vessel was swept away by the current.  Unfortunately, she didn’t bother to retrieve an oar to guide her way when she set off in her reckless pursuit.” 

His lips widened into an amused grin as he lifted one shoulder in a philosophical shrug, “Not that she could have wielded the instrument at her young age.  She was much too excited about the prospect of showing all of you that she could keep up with the warriors and deserved as much as you did to be trained as one, regardless of the great inconvenience, in her mind, of having been born a girl.”

Michel had no difficulty recalling the events the stranger referred to. Even in the innocence of youth he had understood Melissa was going to die when her boat was catapulted over the falls by the rushing current.  “I remember that day, but I don’t recall your presence there.”

“No, of course not.  You were in no danger that day.  It was Melissa who went over the falls.”

Even after a dozen years or more, Michel could still taste the raw terror on his tongue at the memory of Melissa barreling towards him, but it was the look on Amele’s face that morning that he would never forget.  As if their guardian had known Melissa was going to die in the next few moments and there was nothing he would be able to do to prevent it.

Michel had always assumed it was merely random providence that intervened on his twin’s behalf that day. For the first time he questioned his conclusion as another memory from that fateful day intruded.  When they found Melissa asleep beside the rushing water after a long and desolate search convinced at best they would recover only her lifeless body from the water to carry back to their parents for burial, Melissa was adamant a stranger had rescued her from the river and sat with her on the bank and kept her warm while she waited for Amele and the warriors to find her. Amele tried to convince her she was imagining the stranger she spoke of.  Michel always assumed Amele must be correct.

“You’re the stranger she spoke of.  The one whose name she forgot to ask.  You fished her out of the water,” Michel’s awed voice sounded almost like an accusation in the silence between them.

The stranger nodded his affirmation of Michel’s conclusion.  “Yes, it was not supposed to end the way it did.  Your reckless twin should have died that morning, but sometimes, very rarely, I am moved to pity when my labors lead me to the very young and the very brave.  Your sister was both. Besides, she was so reckless with her life, I didn’t think I would have long to wait before she joined me.” 

Again the stranger’s self-mocking amusement surfaced when he added with a wry smile, “Admittedly, given your sister’s lack of regard for her own life, there have been numerous additional occasions when our paths have intersected, but I have always restrained myself from taking her despite the great temptation to do so.  Melissa considers me a friend.  There are so few who do, it would pain me to betray her trust and take her without her permission.”

Michel knew he must be dreaming, because the thoughts drifting through his glazed mind and coalescing into a single, untenable conclusion must surely be the product of a deranged mind.  “Who are you?” His demand escaped his lips in a hushed whisper, and then when the stranger remained silent, he added in an even quieter voice, “Are you Satan?”

The stranger laughed with genuine amusement, and relieved beyond measure, Michel swallowed his sense of dread at the thought of Melissa’s seemingly close acquaintance with the lord of the underworld. His unease was immediately resurrected when his companion explained, “No, no, I am not Satan, but certainly our sometimes similar purposes often lead to my being mistaken for him.  No, when the occasion warrants it, I merely inform the living that their deaths are upon them.  It is the purpose of the lord of darkness to claim the souls of the damned.”

Michel could no longer discern if he was caught in the throes of a dream or contesting with the clinging tentacles of a nightmare, but he was certain this exchange was the most bizarre conversation he’d ever engaged in. “You make it sound as though he is rendering the world a valuable service,” Michel remarked.

“But of course,” his misty companion quickly agreed. “The Almighty does not allow the filth of evil souls to stain the perfection of heaven.”

“So they are sent to hell,” Michel confirmed, fascinated despite himself.

The stranger shrugged.  “Sometimes there is no avoiding that unpleasant destination, at least for those souls who have proven particularly resistant to corrective teaching.  Nothing like the fires of hell to pry open a closed mind.”

Despite their unholy topic, Michel’s shoulders shook with laughter.  “No doubt.”

“Ah, it is only the truly just who find such truths amusing.  I think your sister is not as unique as I have always assumed.  You do not fear death, my young king?”

Michel sighed heavily at the reminder of Melissa.  “While I do not court it with the same zealous disregard as my twin, no, I don’t particularly fear it.  Is not death simply a birth into a new life?”

The stranger nodded, the expression in his dark eyes mirroring his surprise.  “Your grandmother taught you well.”

“Yes,” Michel acknowledged.  A not uncomfortable silence fell between them.  Michel took the opportunity to go over in his thoughts all that he had learned, no longer certain he was dreaming.  Perhaps he was caught somewhere between the experience of life and death.  As if his body was not quite certain which side of the mysterious veil separating the two it would next awaken on. 

His lips curved upward at his fanciful conclusion, then realizing the unique opportunity presented him by his companion’s presence, and willing to set his disbelief side for the moment, he regarded his companion with a speculative gleam in his eyes, “You know things that mortal men do not.”

“Yes,” the arbiter of death acknowledged smiling, as if he’d been waiting for Michel to make this very leap.

Michel continued eagerly, “Your memory extends far back beyond the reach of mortal lives.”

“Further, my young friend, than you can begin to comprehend.”

Satisfied, Michel leaned back against the pillows supporting him and got to the point, unsure how long his opportunity would extend, “Ah, then you are aware of the origin of the curse that besets this house.”

His companion’s laughter filled the space between them.  As Michel had no idea what he found so amusing, he merely waited for his companion to gain control over his amusement and rejoin the conversation.  Finally, his laughter subsided and he stood regarding Michel with a wide grin.  “You know who I am, the advantages against the living I can offer you, and yet all you seek from me is the answer to an archaic riddle?”

Michel shook his head, denying his conclusion, “Not the answer, because I do not believe in cheating fate.  If my blood has a debt to repay I would rather see it settled than attempt to evade its course and therefore pass it along to future generations.  I am anxious to do so, but I do not know where to begin to seek the answer to a curse that was laid beyond the memory of all living Caleinians.”

“Beyond the memory of the living, certainly, but not the memory of the dead.”

“Yes,” Michel acknowledged with a hopeful smile, “That is where I was sort of hoping you might be able to assist me.”

When his companion merely remained silent regarding him with a considering look, Michel added with what he hoped was a winning smile, “You being a friend of the family and all.”

Another amused chuckle emerged at Michel’s daring, but this time it was accompanied by a regretful sigh.  “I will consider your appeal, my young king, but for now, as it does not appear you will be requiring my services any time soon, I shall be on my way.  I have enjoyed our interlude, but my work calls for my attention and will not wait.”

“Thank you,” Michel replied his appreciation no less sincere for all he was almost entirely convinced the interlude the stranger referred to was a product of whatever illness beset him and its effects on his imagination.

“For what do you offer me your gratitude?”

Michel was quiet for a moment, before replying seriously, “For giving me all of these years I have enjoyed with me sister, and for watching over her when I could not.” At the others acknowledging nod, Michel added, his mind finally recalling why the stranger’s voice seemed familiar to him, “And for your warning about Raulf.  I realize now you also tried to warn me after the conclusion of the battle when I let down my guard thinking our victory was assured, but I arrogantly dismissed your caution and have paid dearly for my foolishness.”

“Graciously spoken, my young king, but you will live to see a new dawn.  See to it that you do not waste it.”              With this final word of advice, his fascinating companion disappeared as suddenly as he emerged.  Moments later, Michel woke to searing pain in his back and chest and the sight of Amele’s familiar face bending over him, his dark eyes reflecting his concern.  When their eyes met, Amele’s lips split in a wide, relieved smile, “Ah, you are finally awake.  Thank the good Lord.  I was not looking forward to carrying the news of your death back to your sisters and grandmother.”