“He’s hurting, Mae. This isn’t what he expected.”
“Yeah, well maybe I’m hurting too.”
I thought of the new sensations running in my veins. The images, the knowledge, the memories I knew couldn’t belong to me. I opened my mouth to tell Alana, to share my burden with my dear sister, but the words halted on my lips at the loud blast of a horn. I’d know that sound anywhere. My stomach pinched and twisted.
Was I going to leave Tristram to face this alone, while the rest of our people watched his every move?
Silently, I rose to my feet. My toes still tingled from the cool water and I looked longingly at the crystal current. I’ll be back to learn more, I told it. Then I held my hand for Alana and led us back towards the settlement.
Man, woman, and child, stood in a silent circle, Father in the middle, his arms risen to the sky as he chanted and prayed to our gods to lead Alen on into his next life.
Reincarnation was the root of all existence, our souls only tied to the mortal plane through the skin and bones of our bodies. Strength was to be found in death. Another doorway into a different life.
I slipped through the crowd of silent onlookers. Father was murmuring the rites of passage, calling on Lugh the god of rebirth. My hand found Tristram's, winding my fingers with his, the gem on my neck heating at our touch. I glanced up at him to find his face forward, his lips grim, his eyes burning dark. He didn’t turn to me, but his hand squeezed mine.
While everyone worshiped the god of rebirth and sought Alen a safe journey, my thoughts drifted and I watched the clear sky. From under my feet the earth pulsed, and I glanced around to see if anyone else felt it. Nobody moved. Surrounded by my people, my hand in the man I’d always loved's, I slipped into an isolation of unfathomed depths.
Who was I? And why was this happening?
I thought of rebirth, my eyes flicking to Tristram. Could I imagine a life where he wasn’t in it? But yet, didn’t that always happen? Why should I be different?
With a multitude of unanswerable thoughts and questions swirling in my head and a thunderous gathering of rain clouds swirling above, I reached into the air, seeking answers from wherever I may find them.
What was magic? And if the magic of old, long disappeared had come back, why had it come to me?
An eagle swirled overhead, wheeling and squawking in a bank of wind. From under its wings I could make out the glimmer of a second pair of wings. Iridescent and breathtaking, they stretched in a shimmering rainbow of lights.
The eagle’s head turned, his beady black eyes meeting mine, and I gave him a nod as he banked higher into the azure of the sky, taking his stunning soul with him. The time of Alen had passed.
Later, with the freshly dug mound of earth still settling into a new page of our history, Father lead Tristram out to his new stones. There my childhood friend was named our leader and liege. All knelt before him as Father placed upon his head a circlet of copper and crystal.
My heart pounded heavy and the earth rumbled under my feet.
Times were changing but was I ready for the change they were bringing?
12
“So let me get this straight.” Phil stared at me from across the table. I’d been scolded by the sharpened tongue of Mrs Cox for running off into the forest, told it was dangerous to leave myself exposed in the wild like that. Then I’d been given a hot cocoa and a plate of cabbage and mash potato. Unwanted glances lingered in my direction. The whole school knew of my excursion and whispers crept around the cavernous space. And to think I’d wanted to avoid drama.
I clattered my cutlery as I put them down and pushed my plate away. How could I eat when I wasn’t sure what I’d just experienced? More to the point how much boiled cabbage was I supposed to eat anyway?
Phil was intent on my story, her glasses repeatedly slipping down her nose as she stared at me. “You found the stones, and they…” she trailed off and I didn’t blame her. My story was one of fantasy, the misgivings of an overactive imagination. Except I’d felt it all. Brief as it had been, I’d sat by those stones when the trees were younger and the people around me weren’t wearing a navy uniform.
“Phil.” I leant forward dropping my voice. “Something’s going on here. I’ve been feeling it since I arrived.” I wanted to grab her hand, to squeeze it tight, so she’d listen more, but I’d had enough people talk about me for the day. “These dreams I’ve been having, they are so real, but then when I wake it’s as if they are being hidden from me.”
She nodded, her face blank.
“What if I’m not dreaming? What if it’s happening?”
Licking her lips, I watched her dig deep for a suitable response. “So somewhere there are a bunch of Druids just running around and no one else can see them apart from you?” She pushed her glasses up again, her eyes beneath the lenses crinkled with concern.
I shook my head. That didn’t sound right. “No.” I sighed. “I don’t know what I mean.” I hesitated for a moment before throwing caution to the wind and revealing my true crazy. “Tristan, he’s in my dreams, but he’s different, he’s—”
“Ah,” she shouted. “Now that I can explain.” She waved her fork in my direction. “We’ve all dreamed of Tristan Prince, and who can blame us, the guy is a god of extreme hotness.”
I was going to retort, tell her that no one could possibly have dreamed of the Tristan I dreamed of. A stab of jealousy quickened
