or against the cliffs below. Protruding from the stone at the base of the castle were thornlike juts of rock that curved slightly upward, daring anyone to attempt entry.
James knew instantly that he must get inside. The moment his eyes took in the black, polished stone he felt a longing for it. It pulled at his every emotion, quickly supplanting his desire to find a way home. He could feel his yearning as if it were a living thing pulsing through his veins. It coaxed him forward again, nearly pitching him off the side and into the rocks below. As he looked down to make sure his footing was stable, he realized he was still without clothes. He also knew he needed shelter and food before beginning his journey to the black castle.
Considerably further past the castle in the water was a large land formation. From his present vantage point, he could see that it connected with the main land upon which he now stood. It was a vast distance away and offered no geographical advantage to gaining access to the castle. Of the mainland, James could only see the massive trees in the forest and an outcropping further down the beach that blocked any view of what lay beyond.
Looking into the sky to determine the time of day, he realized he couldn’t see the sun. The entire sky was bright white. He couldn’t hold it in his gaze for long without his eyes beginning to hurt. No shadows fell on the ground beneath him, or anywhere for that matter.
Perplexed, he climbed down the opposite side of the cliff to the shore, always keeping the castle in sight. He wanted to be inside it more than he’d wanted anything in his entire life.
The muscles in his legs began to cramp, reminding him that he must find fresh water. He reluctantly decided to walk along the shoreline until he found a reentrant that may lead him to fresh water. He rubbed his chin as he walked and realized that the facial hair that had eluded him up to this point in his life had grown thick since his exile.
The beach curved away from the spine. Grudgingly, James turned his back to the black castle. But every minute or so, he looked over his shoulder to make sure it was still there. Looking ahead, he realized that he would have to enter the forest once more in order to find water. He glanced back at the castle, resisting the temptation to run into the water and swim to its base. He bid it farewell, promised a swift return, and then stepped into the forest, leaving the black castle behind.
— 5 -
April 1886, India
A young woman walked hesitantly into the room. The dark and confining entrance opened into a large, vaulted chamber. Sconces lined the walls. Their dancing light gave life to the shadows. In the center of the room was a circular stone fire pit. Embers cast an orange glow onto the face of the man who sat on the far side of the pit.
He was so old she couldn’t guess his age. The closer she stepped, the older he looked. By the time she reached the pit, he looked as if his flesh would blow away with the slightest breeze before he could mutter a word. She’d heard of him, her husband had seen to that.
He had summoned her, and she’d been told that he hadn’t summoned anyone in over a generation. Rumors spread like wildfire around the small village where she had been staying. Onlookers peered out of darkened doorways as she passed. Whispers in far corners resonated like cicadas on a summer night.
As was tradition, according to her husband, she bowed ever so slightly as her bare toes touched the edge of the pit. The man let out a slow breath, and Margaret sat on the stone floor. The moment her legs touched the ground a shadow danced across the old man’s face, wiping away the fragility and leaving behind that of a much younger man. She smelled an unfamiliar fragrance emanating from the fire, and her head began to spin. Shadows and light blurred together. She reached for her head, but before she made contact, the feeling subsided.
“Why are you here?” the old man asked with a hoarse whisper in a tongue she knew she could not understand-yet she did.
“You have summoned me here, Sir,” she replied.
“Please let us agree to continue with the understanding that no question asked should be hastily answered. Think, understand, speak.”
Margaret nodded.
“Why are you here?” he asked again.
There was an extended pause before Margaret replied, “Doubt.”
“And what is it you doubt?”
“I was raised in a world of certain truths,” Margaret said after a lengthy pause. “Those truths have been tested. Absolutes left with my childhood. Now all that exists are beliefs and convictions.”
“So, after years of ignorance you’re finally coming around?” he asked and grinned slightly.
“I confess nothing. I’ve seen or heard nothing that has convinced me this is the correct path.”
“It is not a path of right or wrong, my dear. Many right people trod this path, and, unfortunately, there were some who were not meant to follow it at all. Something has tested what you believed to be true, otherwise you never would have come.”
“I seek answers.”
“Unfortunately it is not answers I give. I am but a seer. What beholds you is more than any one person should bear. It is not my place to decide if those with whom I speak are strong enough to grasp what I tell them. It is only my place to tell them.”
Margaret nodded. She’d gone from feeling confident to insignificant to terrified in less than a minute. The man took another breath. He looked up at her for the first time. His eyes appeared to glow brighter than the embers reflecting in them.
“Your son will not be ordinary. Much tragedy will befall him. Those he holds dearest will be lost. He must be given the strength to endure the pain this will bring. I see greatness. I also see malice… anger. How he rises from the horrors that will plague him will determine the path he follows. No skill shouldn’t he acquire. No knowledge should be withheld. He will be tested. Whether he passes will fall on your shoulders as well as his father’s.”
“His father,” Margaret murmured instinctively.
“While you may believe otherwise, his father has much to teach him. Lessons that can only be passed from father to son. Your son is weak. Strengthen him. There is little time.”
The man exhaled and lowered his head. He did not speak again. After several minutes, Margaret stood, turned, and padded across the floor toward the exit. She slipped on her sandals and made her way back up the narrow earthen steps that wrapped tightly along the side of the boulder just beyond the entrance. The only signs of her escorts were several massive paw tracks in the damp ground.
Margaret reflected upon her brief meeting as she walked down the leaf-covered hill to the main path. She thought of her husband, James Lochlan Stuart III, who had directed her here. Roughly a year ago something changed in him. Prior to that, he would have been considered a staunch traditionalist. Never had he politically deviated from the doctrines of his family. That is, never before he met the man, Ogilvy.
England. It’s so far away. How did I end up on the other side of the world? she thought. Was it true, this prophecy? Her life had been turned upside down. Her beliefs shattered like glass with each piece of evidence that suggested this world did indeed exist. Instinct told her to follow her husband to the remote reaches of northern India. She clung to doubt because the alternative thrust her into a world she did not understand and Margaret must maintain control. Now a new path lay before her. A path which neither she nor her husband controlled. For the first time in her life, Margaret felt powerless.
— 6 -
