Page 11

“There are those in this world whose powers are very special, even among my people.” Orabilis paused, as if debating how much to say. Her obvious internal battle at an end, she sighed heavily and then continued. “They are called Sensors. They unconsciously draw the Faerie Magic to themselves. Where you find an amazing coincidence, there you will find a Sensor.”

Patrick knew that Orabilis was sharing something important with him. Something she likely never shared with mere Mortals. “Am I to assume that these special people play some part in what I am about to do?” he asked.

“A very large part. When you arrive in the time that Elesyria has traveled to, you will need to find one of these Sensors in order to locate her.” The old woman frowned, an uncharacteristic look of concern wrinkling her features. “If only we had a personal belonging of Elesyria’s, we could set yer arrival more accurately.”

A personal belonging?

“Would a comb do?” Patrick asked, opening his sporran and digging inside as he spoke.

“Perfect!” Orabilis squealed as she snatched the comb from his hands. She then tore a strip of cloth from the end of her skirt and wound it around the comb’s teeth before handing it all back to him. “That in yer hands when you travel will ensure that the first person you meet will be the Sensor nearest to Elesyria.”

He liked the sound of that. At last it seemed as though the dice were falling in his favor. “And have you any suggestions on how I should approach this Sensor? I’d imagine my popping in out of thin air and saying I’m from their past might be difficult to take all in one swallow.”

Another deep sigh met his question, as if the answering of it would again force the old Fae to share more than she really wanted to reveal.

“Most Sensors, and definitely those of my bloodline, will have heard my name. You’ve no’ a need to look so surprised, my wee warrior. I’ve no’ always been as weak and helpless as you see me now.”

Patrick blanked his expression, irritated that he’d allowed the surprise of her words show on his face. “Go on,” he said, making sure his voice didn’t betray his feelings. “Though I must tell you in truth, witch, I’ve no’ ever made the mistake of thinking of you as either weak or helpless.”

“That’s only as it should be, lad,” she said, a smile spreading across the old woman’s face before she wiped it away. “Because you were raised properly. But back to the business at hand. When you meet the Sensor, you must tell her right off that Orabilis has sent you into her keeping. Tell her that the Faerie home world is rife with turmoil and revolt and that I am asking a boon of her to help in locating one of our own who’s been exiled to her place and time. Explain why you’ve come and who you seek. Without her knowing all of that, yer no’ likely to get the help you need in a timely fashion. You must remember what I’ve said and do exactly as I’ve told you.”

“I will,” he answered, anxious to be on his way. Anxious to find Syrie and bring her home where she belonged. “I’m ready.”

“No’ so fast, lad. There’s a bit more you need to understand if yer to find success in yer quest. I’ve already told you of the danger you face in failing. There are Fae who, once they realize what yer attempting, will do everything in their power to stop you. Everything. They will not hold back, and the Magic they wield is mighty in both reach and effect.”

His mother had told him stories of Faerie Magic when he was but a lad. Stories that had disturbed his dreams for months afterward. If the old witch thought to dissuade him from his quest, she’d certainly chosen a strong argument.

Though not strong enough. Nothing was strong enough to keep him from trying to reach Syrie.

“How am I to defeat Magic such as this? I am but a mere mortal.”

Orabilis snorted, shaking her head as she leaned closer to him. “Yer no more a mere mortal than I am, son of Asgard. Son of Deandrea. The blood of two powerful lines of beings mingles in yer veins. Never forget that. You may not have the Gifts of yer sister, but you’ve Gifts of yer own, even if you’ve no’ seen them yet.”

In spite of what Orabilis said, Patrick knew better. He had no Gift of any kind. No talents for Magic or the Sight. He had no special powers at all, only the power of his own two hands.

He did have determination, though, and, as his family had mentioned more than once, a stubbornness unmatched by any. He had that on his side. That and the love he carried in his heart. He would battle the greatest armies to save Syrie. That would have to be enough to see him through.

“Patience and cunning, my young warrior,” Orabilis said. “You’ve that on yer side, as well. And honesty. A virtue you’ll need to exercise as you work with she who will help you. Because the Sensor also faces a danger. But, whereas yer danger comes with yer failure, hers comes with yer succeeding in yer quest. There are powerful Fae who will be angered by what they will see as her interference. And yers. She must be warned of this. As for yer dealings with the Sensor, Patrick, doona forget this: Anything less than complete honesty in all things and you’ve lost her help before you even begin.”

“I’ll tell her all I can,” he answered. “With honesty. You’ve my oath on it.”

“Good.” Orabilis nodded as if his answer had satisfied her. “Now, equally important, I’d hear what you intend to say to Elesyria when you first lay eyes upon her?”

Say to her? He hadn’t thought so far ahead as to the moment he saw her again. And he certainly hadn’t thought of what he’d say. He’d only imagined himself gathering her in his arms and holding her until she couldn’t do anything else other than to remember him.

“It’s as I feared,” Orabilis said, shaking her head as if she’d heard his thoughts. “Syrie’s memory will only return with time. If you think you’ve no need to prepare because you’ll simply force her to remember by telling her who she is and what has happened, yer no’ recognizing the depth of the Magic you face. Doing such as that could lock her into her new reality forever. For a fact, I’d imagine you’ll find yerself unable to say the words that would share her history at all until you’ve done what you need to do. You’ll have to win her heart again, Patrick. Just as you did in this time. Only then will her memory break free of the chains that bind her. It’s part and parcel of the Magic sent out by the Goddess. There are no short paths to yer quest.”

All good and fine for her to say. Just make the stubborn Elf fall in love with him again. Sounded so easy as the words came from her mouth. But there were problems with that path. Problems like the possibility that he hadn’t yet won Syrie’s heart in this time. He had no way of knowing what her feelings for him really were. It might be only him that fancied himself in love.

“Doona fash yerself over it, lad. You can only do what you can do, aye?”

His panic must have shown through in his expression. Either that or the old witch really was reading his mind.

He nodded his acceptance of this latest twist to his quest. “Do you have any other advice for me as to what I should do or say?”

A fitting question, since Orabilis seemed full of advice.

“Only that you should be guided by the Sensor who finds you first. That is yer best course of action. She will ken the ways of the time in which you find yerself. Are you ready?”

Again he nodded, holding very still as waves of green sparkles appeared to course out of the water and began to circle his body. A noise filled his ears, like the buzzing of angry insects getting closer and closer. Only as the sparkles turned into dazzling multicolored lights, diving haphazardly around him, did he think to question the actual process of sending him through time.

“Yer sure this will work?” he yelled over the din of the buzzing. “That I’ll end up where Syrie is?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Orabilis yelled back, putting distance between her and him.

The lights grew more dense and their movement more frantic until they seemed to melt into a shimmering bubble of green surrounding him. The earth itself trembled under his feet and he fell, endlessly, into a huge black void.

He’d known the fear of battle and the fear of loss, but this? This was a new beast altogether, made even more disconcerting when he heard Orabilis’ voice again as if she stood next to him.

“At least, I think it will work.”

Perfect. Even as the last shreds of his world faded away, he was still subject to the perverse vagaries of Faerie humor.

If it was humor and not true concern.

“Please let it be humor,” he muttered, his last thoughts before he gave in to the forces that stole all conscious thought and tossed him helplessly through the void.

* * *

Syrie knew this place, though she had no memory of ever having been here before. Perhaps it was only from the legends that she recognized it.

Whatever the reason, she hadn’t a single doubt about where she stood. This place was the Void and that, only steps ahead of her, was the River of Time.

Slowly, she moved toward the river and stopped to kneel when she reached the bank’s edge to hold her fingers only inches away from the enticing waters. Here, at the bank, the waters eddied and circled, deceptively calm and inviting. Farther out, near the center, they showed their true nature, churning and writhing in a riotous shower of color and sound.

The spray generated by their tumult cast a fine mist of liquid color across her hand, like a dusting of living glitter. To dip her fingers into the crystalline blue water would be a mistake. To step inside would be beyond forbidden.

And yet that was exactly what she was drawn to do.

Rising to stand, she lifted one bare foot and tentatively dipped her toes into the gently lapping water. A toe and then her whole foot. Before she allowed herself the time to consider the potential consequences of her actions, she found herself waist deep, unable to turn back to the shore. The path she followed led only forward, leaving her no options but to continue on.

Somewhere near the center of the river, with the waters raging around her, buffeting her body from every direction, she found him.

He stood there, head bowed, unaffected by the tumult around him, impervious to it, as if the waters feared to touch him. Tall and strong, he stood as if waiting, with his dark hair splayed over his shoulders like a curtain of black silk.

That silken curtain parted as he lifted his head, long, shimmery strands of hair caught up by the blowing wind to reveal blue eyes so mesmerizing Syrie couldn’t have looked away even if her life had depended upon it.

“Elf,” he murmured, his deep voice spreading over her soul like a long-absent balm.

When he opened his arms to her, she stepped in close, allowing him to enclose her in his embrace as if she were coming home to a place where she belonged.

“I’ve missed you so,” she whispered, not realizing the truth of her words until they reached her ears.

He made a noise low in his throat, primal and possessive, as his lips trailed a slow, heated path down her cheek, across her jawline, to settle near the base of her neck.

“Mine,” he growled, his kisses trailing lower until his mouth covered one hardened nipple.

Had he not held her so tightly, she would have fallen. She would have been swept away by the furious torrents crashing around them. But he held her, close to his body, wrapped in an embrace that told her more than any words ever could have just how safe she was with him.

She ran a hand through his hair, brushing long strands back as he lifted his head to meet her eyes.

“I feared I’d lost you forever,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion.

“It’s not possible for you to lose me,” she answered, fighting against the waters that suddenly buffeted them, threatening to pull them apart. “I’m here. You’re here.”

“No.” He shook his head, pain and sorrow battling in his eyes. “Soon, but not yet.”

As if the water were a living creature, waves rose up, tearing them from one another, tossing them to opposite banks of the massive river.

“Remember me, Elesyria,” he called, as much a command as a plea.

And then he simply disappeared. There one instant and gone the next, like a candle flame snuffed out.

“Come back!” she demanded, shouting to be heard over the roar of the river. But it was no use. The sound of the water gradually faded away, leaving only her own desperate voice to echo in the empty void as tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

Remember him? How could she do anything other than remember him? He was as the night to her day, as much a part of her as her own heart. She could scarcely forget her own heart, so certainly she couldn’t forget someone who…

The void began to swirl around her, its inky black slowly giving way to a soft yellow glow.

Once, twice, a third time she blinked, only then coming fully awake.

Her shoulder cramped from the crumpled position in which she’d slept, and her feet tangled in the afghan she’d draped over them when she’d first lain down for her nap. Her pillow was uncomfortably damp and not until she sat up did she realize her whole face was wet.

“That was one awful nightmare,” she said, pulling herself off the bed to make her way to the bathroom.

Switching on the light, she glanced in the mirror to discover her makeup was smeared and her eyes were as red and swollen as her nose felt. One awful nightmare, indeed. So awful, it had brought her to tears, and yet all she could remember of it was an overwhelming sense of loss and something about a pair of blue eyes that had the power to bring her to her knees.

Like everything else that had happened in her life prior to the night she came to this house, the dream was a memory she couldn’t recover.