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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The Second Circlet: The Old Places - 3. Segment 3: A Holy Spirit
The fire crackled and its light sent shifting shadows throughout the darkened cottage. It was warm and it was good that it was warm because a sudden chill had fallen upon the countryside.
Moira, Sean, and Joraan huddled around the fire after their own fashions. Moira and Sean were on the couch cuddled up to one another like two peas in a pod under the covers. Joraan lay on the floor at their feet, luxuriating in the feel of the warm wood floor beneath him. The fire seemed to affect him differently than it did the two human people. He drifted in and out of sighs as if intoxicated by the fire's warmth. He even 'kitten stretched' a couple of times calling to mind his customary guise of being a common house cat.
"Laddie, how can ye possibly be that comfortable layin' upon the bare arsed floor, hey?" Sean chuckled with reserved fondness as he watched Joraan's inexplicable behaviour.
Joraan rolled over upon his tummy and cradled his face in his hands staring at Sean with those wildly mesmerising eyes of his. Sean could not fathom why this simple act should be at once beguiling and yet disconcerting.
"There's a perfectly good chair over there upon which to dump yerself, aye? You should know, you made it move about like a bloody race car with me as passenger earlier!" Sean said in a good natured if sarcastic tone. Joraan merely blinked at Sean, one eye at a time, almost sleepily. It was such a . . . feline thing to do!
"I like the floor. It smells nice." Joraan said rolling back over onto his back and allowing his long slender legs to spread akimbo to warm his naughty bits.
Sean rolled his eyes. The lad was a queer one there was no doubt. He just hoped that the boy/leprechaun/elf didn't cook his nuts too much. Who knows, there might be hope that they'll find a girl leprechaun and they can restart their species or what have you.
It was then, as if on cue to Sean's particular concerns, that the wood in the fire started to snap, hiss, and flare rather sharply. Opting for the better part of valour, Joraan wisely sat up and tucked his legs under him as he watched the fire with concern.
"Och, 'Tiz just this lousy firewood they push up at Balantine's Conveniences. I don't know what trees they used for the wood, but they are tiresomely noisy and 'poofy'." Moira reassured.
Joraan's little smile vanished and he had a vaguely hurt expression. The mention of 'trees' and 'burning' always caused him sorrow. Men of this time have no idea what that sacrifice costed and still costs and may continue to cost for everyone. This world needs to be remade, it is true, but as Joraan thought this was something to be left to the Maker of things, not to the deluded and demented Fae.
Sean, who was remarkably sensitive to changes in any social atmosphere, picked up on the sudden heaviness in the silence from the floor. The cause of the silence was easy to figure out since Joraan had been chatting or humming little tunes to himself all evening. He sang pleasant little ditties that Sean had never heard before in a beautiful tenor and in a Gaelic dialect he didn't recognise. Joraan had been carrying on like this right up until Moira made mention of the wood. Recalling Joraan's 'Lament' that he had played for Sean earlier, Sean figured that the burning of wood was something objectionable to Joraan. Objectionable, but tolerated, as it were.
"Yeah, 'tiz why I always go down to McFadden's place and buy his peat briquettes. They burn much longer and far more evenly than the pithy wood Balantine's pushes. They may not create the 'atmosphere' of a nice wood fire, but they are a lot more practical for these parts. Not to mention less expensive." Sean said sagely as he got up to poke the logs so they wouldn't collapse. As he looked down at Joraan he winked which caused Joraan's knowing smile to return.
"Ohhh! I never would have thought of going down there! Ah, but I've been about the city too much. I forget 'local resources' when I'm out in the field." Moira said, suddenly mightily feeling the emptiness beside her where Sean had been with her so comfortably.
Alas, despite Sean's ministrations the logs started to hiss and crackle all the more. The flames actually got more intense and the room was filled with their roiling bright light. The heat intensified even to the point where Joraan had to ease himself back from the fire and Sean and Moira felt the need to stand up and move farther away. All were staring intently at this strange and fearfully dangerous phenomenon wondering what was happening.
"Bless, but those logs must have been soaked in something! I've never seen a hearth fire burn that hot before. I hope my chimney doesn't crack!" Moira commented in a hushed voice filled with awe and a bit of dread.
"I can't but be thinkin' you're correct on that account, Moira. I should ready a bucket lest that conflagration decides to get closer to hellfire!" Sean rushed over to the kitchen and found Moira's mopping bucket and began filling it from the kitchen faucet.
As he did the fire did indeed get brighter and hotter. It even started to roar a bit. The fire seemed fixed to explode at any moment!
"By God! I'm gonna have words with Mr. Balantine over this! His swindlin' ways are bad enough, but causin' house fires is too much! I'll happily thump him into payin' for the damages, Moira! Sellin' creosote ridden wood without warnin' a soul is criminal!" Sean growled.
Fortunately, for Sean, he wasn't fast enough to get close with the bucket to splash the raging mini-inferno in the hearth. This was because the fire, at that moment, decided to explode out into the room violently!
Joraan saved himself by doing a one handed vault from the floor before the fireplace and over the couch. He landed lightly and deftly right beside Moira who stood petrified, but unharmed by the blast. As a matter of fact, this was a most unusual explosion because the only thing to be disturbed by the fireball was the fireball itself! There wasn't even a blast of hot wind to come from the bizarre phenomenon.
If that fact was not strange enough, the reality that the rolling fireball changed color from red-orange to purple-blue and then a rich shade of emerald green would have been the brandy on the pudding. All three friends stood transfixed by the suddenly beautiful manifestation appearing before them.
The green and yellow flames coalesced and took shape into a figure. The flames resolved into the form of a gracefully tall and thin apparition. Some of the flames seemed to take the shape of flowing hair blowing in some ethereal wind. Flaming arms and hands reached out from the figure and the being hovered there before the fireplace just above the floor in a posture that looked like a greeting.
Then came the voice: "Joraan. Joraaan!" It was a gentle voice of Joraan's timber but with a different voice. It sounded older, somehow, and filled with a compelling wisdom.
Moira inexplicably recognised the voice instantly as did Joraan. Moira put her hand in front of her mouth in shock and Joraan's eyes immediately filled with tears and he sobbed in emotional recognition. Sean looked on all like a frightened rabbit trying to restrain every instinct to run and run as fast and as far from the cottage as possible!
"F-father?" Joraan sobbed and rushed to the back of the couch where he gripped the cushion there to the point of choking it. "FATHER?" He asked again almost hysterically.
"Yes, my son. Peace be upon your sweet head, my beloved. I have come unto you as bidden," the being of flame's voice resonated not in the room but in everyone's mind.
Moira whispered into her hand, "Ser!" She knew the voice and she knew the name. She knew it from her dreams. She knew it from her encounters there where she met the Black Stag and the horror of the Fae-man with the sword.
Sean was visibly shaking and his eyes were wide with terror. Moira reached to his trembling hand and took it where he instinctively gripped it gently seeking support.
"It is ok, Sean. Whatever this is, it means us no harm. I know this as well as my own name." Moira said mysteriously. Sean looked at her with some incredulousness but finally nodded and accepted what she was saying, though he didn't quite believe such a thing.
Joraan had scrambled over the couch and was kneeling before the flaming being. He looked like an enraptured saint in prayer kneeling there. No words could come to his choked throat and his mind was reeling to the point where he could not 'send' with his mind.
"My Son . . . " the spirit in the flames uttered with a near groan of tender recognition and love. A breath of something unsubstantial pushed out from Ser's transcendent presence. It thrilled all within the cottage with a sense of joy and love. This 'spirit's breath' affected no one as much as it did Joraan, however. He raised up on his haunches as if straining to be lifted up like a small child. Moria was more than a little afraid that Joraan might burn himself in the flames, but the fire did not seem to burn with any detectable heat at all.
"(Speak, Father. I hear.)" Joraan said in the liquid beauty of his ancient Sídhe language.
Joraan's father's spirit spoke plain so that all in the room could understand: "Joraan, I cannot remain long and time is short so I must be brief. She is coming, Joraan! The Evil is returning to this world and she seeks the death of all!"
"Morgana, my Father? Yes, I have discerned this. I fought one of her servants only last night. I am afraid!" Joraan returned to English taking the cue from his father to include everyone in the room on what was being said.
"Fear not, my precious one. This day was foretold and means have been left to defeat the Evil and all of her servants. It is for the purpose of finding these means that I must send you upon a quest to gather them. Not only you, but the one you protect as well." Moira felt Ser's attention train upon her.
"Me?" Moira gasped unbelieving.
"Moira, Daughter of Kings, yes. You are the One. You are the Heir. You must be Queen and in being Queen defend your realm from your Enemy," Ser's spirit intoned.
"But . . .," Moira was not allowed to press her question about this most bizarre pronunciation by this being. Ser continued his instructions instead.
"You must go to the place where lies the Jewel. There you will find one who will help you and the Heir, my Son. She will make a paladin of the Piercing Eyed Viking and lead you to that which must be used against Morgana and her spawn." Joraan nodded seeming to understand completely what his father was asking of him. The two humans were just gobsmacked at this point. There was so much to process. So very much!
"I am bidden to tell you that you will be guarded well on your journey for there is one that will hinder you and attempt to end your defence even before you begin. Beware of what seems familiar, but embrace what may seem unlikely. Much is moving here! The Veil lifts and the Twining of the Three is at hand!" Ser's flaming apparition began to dim and to change colour back to the bluish colour it was before it turned bright green.
"Godspeed all of you. My prayers go with you . . . as does my everlasting love." Ser's flaming hand reached down and caressed Joraan's cheek singing it not at all. Joraan's eyes were free flowing with golden tears now.
"Must you leave us, Father? Must you go? It has been . . . so very long!" Joraan said with a child's aching whimper in his voice.
"My time here is at its end. I am called back to my rest. Be not sad, we will be joined together again. More the sooner than the later. Guard the Heir well and bring her safely to the place of her destiny, Joraan." Ser's apparition began to withdraw and fold back into the fireplace reverting to the colour of normal flames.
"It will be done, Father. Goodbye. Good...bye." Joraan wept.
"Never goodbye, my Son. Such a word is meaningless for us," with that Ser departed and the hearth fire withered to a few crackling flames of a comforting fire. The room went almost entirely dark.
Joraan sucked in his breath and held it and finally released it in a shuddering sigh. He knelt staring blankly at the fireplace as if his own spirit had left with his father into the flames.
All were still for quite a few minutes.
After a spell, Sean, shaking himself from his own stupor, roused himself sufficiently to move to a bag he had brought with him of 'emergency supplies'. He took out a green bottle of Jameson's and walked over to where Joraan was now sitting on the floor.
"Whist! Sean! No! You don't want to be wakin' him when he gets like this! He won't remember ya! He might toss the flour back upon ya and I've not much of that left as it is!" Moira whispered in a loud stage whisper.
"I'll chance it." Sean said with reassuring firmness. He sat next to Joraan on the floor quietly. He did not make to touch or even speak to the grieving elf-boy. Sean just sat next to him in that companionable way that men can have with each other. Just silently being there with a hurting friend without the need to pet or comfort or mother the person.
Before long, Sean offered the bottle to Joraan who did not seem to notice it or Sean at all at first. Sean then just set the bottle on the floor between them after uncorking it and continued his resting vigil at Joraan's side.
After what seemed an hour, but perhaps was only about five minutes or so, Joraan reached down and took up the bottle as if he'd known it was there all along.
"Go raibh maith agat." Joraan thanked Sean quietly in the Irish.
"Tá fáilte romhat." Sean replied in way welcome.
Joraan then took up the bottle and downed a draught of the whiskey of such quantity that it made Sean's jaw drop. Before he was finished, Joraan had emptied the bottle by half! He took the bottle away from his lips and wiped them with the back of his hand and gave a sigh of refreshment as if he had just enjoyed a soda pop!
"My God, man! You'll kill yerself dead drinking a draught of the Gold like that!" Sean warned with concern and more than a little admiration.
"Ach, not with this water. It has nice flavour as Jameson has always done, but it can't match the home brewed hooch my friend Alester used to leave for me on the back porch of a Sunday. Ah, 1870 was a vintage year for hooch!" Joraan turned and smirked at Sean giving him back the bottle.
"Thank you, Sean. 'Tis like I said before, you are dearly needed." Joraan patted Sean on the shoulder with a heavier hand than Sean thought Joraan capable with his seeming delicacy.
Joraan rose then and tousled his long hair with his hand. He stood thoughtfully for a moment and Moria thought he'd gone back into his 'hole' again. But, "I suppose we should be going then," Joraan said.
"Go where? Where are we going? I couldn't make heads nor tails out of any of what you two were yattering on about." Moira said with a heat that was born more out of being overwhelmed than anger.
"The Jewel, of course. It is where my blessed Father said we must go so there we should go." Joraan said donning his hooded cloak once more.
"But, whatever is this 'Jewel' and how do we 'go to it'?" Moira said with understandable fluster. Sean looked on seeming to have the same feelings as Moira.
"It is in Wales. The northern part as I remember. I've heard the tales." Joraan said taking something out from behind his cloak and looking at it. The device looked like a compass of some kind.
"Ok. I'm game. WHAT tales?" Sean insistently asked.
"The tales my Father used to tell of going to the East and the places there that were quite enchanted. The Jewel was the most enchanted of all the lakes in those parts." Joraan said matter of factly as if either Moira and Sean should know perfectly well what he was blathering about.
"Ooooh-k. Now we are getting somewhere. The 'Jewel' is a lake and it is one of the lakes in the northern hills of Wales, I am assuming." Moira started to add things up like the good scientist she was.
"Oh yes. There were many lakes in that part of the world. The Jewel was the most remote and the most beautiful. It was a favourite of the Fae in those days," Joraan seemed to look back through time and remembered sitting by his Father's knee listening to tales of far away magical places.
". . . Do ya think it might STILL be a favourite of the Fae?" Moira said with trepidation.
"No! Have you not heard anything I've been saying? There ARE no more Fae left in the World and I figure they abandoned the Jewel when Morgana went mad. The Jewel was a sacred place and protected from impurity. If the Fae had not left of their own accord then they would most certainly have been pushed out!" Joraan recounted with a touch of bitterness.
Moira was not listening anymore but punching things up on her cell phone. After a few moments of scanning she found the lake country in northern Wales and saw a number of candidates for what might be the 'Jewel'. Joraan would have to be more specific as to where he thought this place might be.
"More to the point, who is this person we are supposed to meet at this lake? That's what rather concerns me!" Sean asked with his usual incisiveness.
"This I cannot say. My Director can point us to where the Jewel is but not to the location of the person my Father was speaking. I am afraid I am at as much of a loss as you two are on that account." Joraan shrugged irritatingly.
Just then all in the cottage heard a slight whimper from outside. It was the sound of suffering. Everyone froze and fell silent wondering if someone had been outside eavesdropping.
The sound came again, but was more pronounced this time. It was more of a groan. Joraan tilted his head and it seemed that his pointed ears may had perked up under his cowl. His eyes flashed and he darted for the door quicker than flies!
"Joraan! No!" Moira whispered loudly. Sean made to follow but Moira held him back by the elbow. Joraan stood at the door and cocked his head as if listening for something. The groan sounded again. It was definitely a human or humanoid sound. It was no animal.
Joraan suddenly had a handle in his hand and it was angled like it was pointing out of a hidden scabbard beneath his cloak. With speed and strength that caused both humans to jump in shock, Joraan burst out of the door primed for combat. He had his golden glaive unsheathed and it glittered and shimmered with its own peculiar fire. Sean's eyes widened with awe at the sight of the weapon. Never of its like had he ever seen and he was a connoisseur of fine blades from around the world.
At that moment Joraan froze in place as if he had become an instant living statue or a victim of Medusa's gaze. His beautiful emerald eyes widened until they were wont to fall out of his skull and his mouth gaped open like a haddock's.
There, before Joraan, in the mud lying in a fetal position, was a sight he thought impossible. A sight so longed for and so improbable that Joraan had long since given up even dreaming of seeing such a sight.
The being in the mud had skin that was pale as the moon's, but his hair was like red and gold flame. It was wet, matted, and muddied but none of that could belie the inherent silky glow his hair had. He was terribly thin, almost emaciated, but still had some muscle tone left to him. Though his face was to the ground, Joraan could make out the unmistakable points of his ears behind his hair.
The figure shivered in the cold wetness of the icy mud and this caused him to utter another pitiful cry of misery. Joraan's heart broke at the sound . . . and at the sight.
Before him lay one of his own kind! Impossibly, another Sídhe had found Joraan, but nearly at the cost of his own life.
Joraan quickly sheathed his blade and come to the side of what appeared to be one of his brethren. Moira balked at this and called to Joraan from the door, "Nooo! Joraan! You don't know what that is? It might not be safe!" Her instincts were telling her to beware, but Joraan was too moved in pity to hear or care of danger.
He gently reached and touched the bare shoulder of the being and was horrified at how very cold he was. He wore not a scrap of clothing. His only cloak was his shag of matted silken hair.
("My eyes see with joy. My heart beats with gladness.") Joraan spoke the ancient greeting in the music of his old language. But, the being did not respond at once. This caused Joraan concern. Was he too late already? Had this Sídhe come all this way only to die on Moira's doorstep?
("Fire and food await you inside, Brother. Come and take your rest.") Joraan persevered. The being muttered something unintelligible. Joraan leaned in to hear the words again. Moira reached out and made arresting gestures to try and convince Joraan not to get too close.
("Mmm...my ears h-hear the mmm-music o-of a ff-friend's voi-voice.") The fallen Sídhe managed to squeeze passed constricted larynx.
("Yes! Yes, Brother. My hands touch with contentedness a kindred skin.") Joraan continued the long greeting. The Sídhe had ever been fond of long introductions.
Slowly and stiffly the nameless Sídhe made to turn his head to face his fellow. As he did, Joraan's own throat constricted and his face twisted into one of pure joy mixed with unbelievably relief and some sorrow.
The eyes that looked back at him were eyes that had been precious to Joraan beyond all things ever created by God. The nose and cheekbones spoke to a face Joraan had memorized almost cell by cell. The fact that the face was a bit stronger boned with a wider jaw was immaterial. This was the face of someone who was dearer to him even than the fact that this person was one of his kind thought lost.
"M-My'yr? Is . . . is that you?" Joraan began to choke up at seeing that this Sídhe was not only his kind . . . but he was FAMILY as well!
It was My'yr, son of Thren, and . . . brother to Mayra, Joraan's lost half.
"J-JORAAN?" The unfathomably long suffering in My'yr's face opened into a look of absolute joy. Weakly, but determinedly My'yr reached up to Joraan's face and then around his neck and pulled him into a gentle shivering hug.
"I f-found you! I FOUND you at last! At last . . . at laaast." Myyr's arm suddenly slipped from around Joraan's neck and fell lifeless back to the ground.
"My'yr? MY'YR?" Joraan agonised for a second thinking upon the hideous cruelty to have one of his own come to him only to die in his arms! But, death was not the case. My'yr had merely fainted. Joraan could tell he still lived by nothing more than that he still felt My'yr's presence still there with him in this world. Although, the sense of him was a bit . . . off.
With little strength needed, Joraan hefted the depleted My'yr into his arms and gently placed the naked Sídhe over his shoulder. He hated to have to treat his loved one with such distasteful indecency, but My'yr had to be taken in and exposed to the flames of Moira's hearth before he died of exposure.
"What? Yer bringin' him in here? What foolishness is this?" Moira stood to block Joraan's progress. Sean stood just inside the door not knowing what to do.
Joraan looked up from under the brim of his wide hood to show the scintillating green fires of his eyes. They froze Moira in place with their intensity and fierceness.
"Stand aside, Moira, my love, for this is my Brother and none shall live that bar my way from bringing him back from death. Even you." Joraan's demeanour chilled Moira to the bone. There was so much she didn't understand about him. One of the things was the intensity of his feelings. Joraan was like a light switch or a computer toggle, he could turn on a person in a blink. It was more than a little unsettling. She stood aside as told.
The green glancing glare worked almost like a shove to Sean's solar plexus. He jerked back violently and instinctively upon seeing Joraan's ferocious gaze. He felt a cold bath of fear wash over him and a rage of adrenaline surge through him to run as if he'd just seen the glowing eyes of a panther ready to pounce! It took great courage for him to remain in place and not dash out the door at a sprint. Never had he seen such a look except from dangerous wild animals.
Joraan quickly moved to the edge of the hearth where Ser's spirit had come. With a stab of his charged glaive into the coals Joraan set his blade alight. He rolled My'yr over onto his back. His beloved brother was panting and writhing in some kind of distress. Joraan frantically put the flat of his flaming blade right up against My'yr's hollowed chest.
Moira and Sean looked on in horror at what Joraan was doing! Never had they seen such a barbaric act! Branding such a gravely ill person in such a ghastly way! But, neither could move in fear of the one they had, such a short time ago, considered a 'friend'.
But, once again totally misinterpreting what they were seeing, both human people stood flabbergasted and not for the first time today. This fantasy was real! It must be because it simply would not end! Weirdness after weirdness, both children of men had to cast their reason adrift when concerning themselves with the ways of these ancient and magical beings. All laws they had learned that men had to abide by as far as physics, biology, and chemistry were concerned, Sean and Moira had to throw out the window. None applied to the Sídhe!
The enchanted heat from the burning glaive did not scald or char My'yr's skin at all! His body simply absorbed the heat into himself and when it did his shivering stopped and his skin became far less pale. The Sídhe seemed to sigh contentedly and all of his stiff muscles relaxed as one.
"Ahhhhh . . . bright spring leaves, that is soooo much better." My'yr sighed once again.
Joraan found himself massaging My'yr's shoulder with his hand. It was an instinctive gesture and one that he had become accustomed to doing with Mayra eons ago. The old reflex was still there. It had the same affect on My'yr as it did on Mayra, it soothed him.
"Thank you, my brother. I . . . thought I'd never make it through to you. The transition was so very . . . hard!" My'yr's eyes closed and he shivered again, but for different reasons.
"Transition?" Joraan asked wonderingly.
"Through the Configuration. I came through it . . . but God the pain!" My'yr's closed eyes squeezed together harder at the recent memory of an ordeal Joraan could not have even begun to understand.
"Configuration?" Joraan persisted with questions, knowing full well that My'yr may have been in no position to answer much of anything at that moment.
My'yr's cobalt blue eyes shot open and his expression gave Joraan a fright thinking that My'yr might be having another attack of some kind.
"I saw him, Joraan. I saw them do it to him! I saw him . . ." My'yr trained his horrified gaze upon Joraan's eyes.
"You saw who, Brother? What did you see?" Joraan was terrified of hearing what was coming, but knew it had to be for the sake of My'yr's mind. The fact of what had happened looked like it damaged him on some level.
"Your father, Joraan. I saw them do it!" My'yr reached his hand up to cup the side of Joraan's face tenderly. My'yr held Joraan's gaze for a few moments.
"She murdered him to open the Configuration, Joraan! She used his last remaining energies to open it up! She sent me through first to test it and to see if it would kill me! It did not! I came through it and back into this world! But . . . I fear for what follows me!" My'yr was looking past Joraan's face now into a world of memories still fresh and terrible.
It was Joraan's turn to close his eyes and hang his head. My'yr's being here had come at a bitter cost. What a heinous thing to do to both My'yr and he.
It looked as if the eons of separation from the world had further deranged Morgana to the point of committing unholy atrocities even beyond the horrors she caused while still in the world. Now Joraan knew how she had managed to punch a hole through the Veil of Separation. She'd used up captured Sídhe lives! She used his father's life as the coup de gras to hold this 'Configuration' open. He figured it was some kind of magical gate or portal to the place In-between where the Fae now live.
Again, Joraan was held within the tight grip of vengeance. Let Morgana come. Let her foul minions come through to meet him. Joraan would be prepared . . . with all the powers of Hell!
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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