Diclaimer: same as before…the description of the Spirit Realm and how it works is much like what I have read in many Druid books. Hopefully it is accurate enough.
Tracy 137: I just had to make sure that you knew I was not trying to copy your idea. I know there is a lot of different soul binding 'things', but I just didn't want to say nothing in case of…I don't know. I said that just in case. And I just read your next chapter…great. I love how he is horrified by changing the children. I was trying so hard not to laugh out loud because my two roommates were sleeping. I loved it.
Lucillaq: I know most Druids are not open about their faith, though they are proud to be who they are they do not flaunt it. This is a very important and dramatic time for her because she is about to loose her daughter. I don't think she cares if she gets hung…she just wants her daughter to live.
Countess Jackman: You will have to let me know about where you read that. I never knew it was real. It just popped into my head as I was reading the chapter.
Camreyn: I have read a lot on the Wiccan/Druid religion. It has been an interest of mine for almost two years now. I began to write a story that I want to get published some day, and my lead character is a witch. So I needed to do a lot of research. When I was writing these last two chapters, and this one, I had my "Druid Magic" book opened right next to me. And thank you a million…your review inspired part of this chapter. And the father is not Gareth.
Babaksmiles: I know how it is to want to keep reading a story that already has lot of chapters…and you don't want to get away from the screen. I have been like that since I discovered this website. I am glad you like my story enough to do that. And those spells took me hours to write. Thanks.
Sorry these last few chapters came a little slow…I have my finals coming up, so it might be like this for a the next few weeks. Just bare with me…I will not abandon you.
And I know Arthur seems really crazy right now. But I really wanted to show his transformation. He has so much faith in Rome and his faith. He has not begun to question it yet. He will get better…I promise.
Justice Will Rhyne
Chapter Twelve-Binded Souls
When Tristan entered the room Rhyne was sitting on the edge of her bed with her back facing the door. Her saddlebags and armor was sitting right in the walkway, as if she just dropped them when she entered. Hawk was sitting at her feet, looking up at her. By the way her looked Tristan could tell something was wrong. "Rhyne," he said softly. She didn't answer him, nor did she move.
Tristan had things in his hands to clean and stitch her wounds, and set them down on the small table next to her bed. Hawk moved aside and let Tristan take his place kneeling before her. He had already taken off his armor, cleaned up and put on clean clothes. He put his hands on her thighs. "Rhyne." She didn't answer again. Her head was down and shoulders were slouched. Her eyes were focused on the floor. It was as if Rhyne was looking right through him. She still wore her bloodied clothes. Some wounds were still bleeding slowly. The deep slice on her shoulder dripped down to her elbow. There were still slight blood streaks on her face and her hair was caked with red.
Tristan moved his hand to her cheek. "Rhyne, can you hear me?" She finally stirred and looked at him, surprised to see him there.
Rhyne finally broke down. "It's my fault Tristan. She's going to die, and it's my fault. Just as it was with so many others." Tears started running down her cheeks. "It is never my fate. It is never my time to die. Why? Why is it so many others, and never mine!" Her voice was hysterical now. She got to her feet. "Why do I have to be punished so? What have I done in this life to deserve all this despair!"
Tristan hugged her to him. She struggled against him. "It's not your fault! Never has it been your fault!" Rhyne still tried to push from his grip.
"You know nothing! How could know!" Her voice filled with fury.
Tristan tightened his grip around her as she did everything she could to try and get away. "Because I know you Rhyne! You would never wish death for others!"
"You saw Tristan! You saw me curse them! I want death for them! Arthur's right, I'm a monster! Let me go!"
"You are not a monster! The Saxons are! They deserve what you did to them!"
Rhyne elbowed him in the ribs but he still would not let her go. "Get away from me! You have seen what I am! A monster, nothing more!" She used all the strength she had in her body and pushed him away from her. Tristan hit the wall behind him. They both were breathing hard. "I am monster." She turned away from him and fell to her knees. Tristan knelt by her side and threw his arms around her again. "Get away from me. I am a monster. I don't deserve you." Her voice was in despair. She tried to push him away but had no more strength.
He said softly in her ear. "Is that what you think? That because of what you did today, I will not love you?"
"How could you love a monster?" Rhyne didn't look at him, she couldn't. She was afraid he would agree.
"What you did today, I would have done the same. Any of us would. You almost lost your only child, and still may lose her. Arthur said that because he does not believe in hate. But you have been through too much suffering not to."
"I saw your eyes after everything. All of you were scared of me. If not monster, then what? What have I turned myself into?"
"You are a mother. A mother who has the curse of war."
"Please leave me alone. I deserve nothing." She slightly pushed against him, but all her strength had diminished.
Tristan squeezed her tighter. "You deserve everything." He hesitated for a moment. Is this the right time…Yes, better then any… "I love you." She stopped breathing, and so did he. "I have loved you for fourteen years."
"Why? I do not deserve such a love."
"You deserve better, much better than I."
Rhyne finally looked at him. "There is no one I would rather love." They stared at each other for a moment; they stared into each other's souls. The two warriors whose fates were now one. "What am I going to do Tristan? If she dies, I die as well." Rhyne through her arms around his neck and started sobbing. "She can't die."
Tristan rubbed her back comfortingly and whispered into her ear. "She is strong, like you. She will not give in." They stayed that way until Rhyne's crying stopped. "You have to let me clean your wounds." He sat her on the bed and cleaned and stitched the wounds on her arms. Then he helped bathe her. She was an emotional wreck. Everything from the past fourteen years was now taking its toll. After she was dried he wrapped the wounds that needed it, including the two that were self inflicted. He combed and braided her hair for her.
When she was ready for bed Tristan picked her up in his arms and he lay down with Rhyne wrapped in his arms. They laid there, for what seemed like hours, and neither spoke. When Rhyne finally felt sleep taking her she whispered to him. "I love you, Tristan." He pulled her closer to him. "I know." She gave a little smile and drifted off into dreams...
Lancelot struggled against exhaustion. He still held Sparrow's hand in his. She had finally stopped struggling, and was now deep in an unconscious fever. He would not let sleep conquer him. He had to stay awake, so he could be there if she needed anything. He had not let go of her hand since Rhyne had mixed their blood. Lancelot did not understand everything she had done, but knew one thing for sure. Sparrow and he were now connected, if they weren't before. For all eternity their souls will never drift apart, and they will always be by each other's side.
But it was strange. Before Rhyne completed the ritual they had already felt that way. Why else would there be a fire each time they touched? When they kissed, every thing around them became black, and they were each other's world. He loved that feeling. Since the first time she put his hand on hers he could not keep anyway from her. He longed for her touch, every second of everyday.
As Lancelot held her hand these last few hours he could feel that fire diminishing, slowly, but still diminishing. Her fever was slowly rising, and every now and then he would check her wounds, make sure they were not pulling. The gashes on her high ribs and thigh were still bleeding slightly, but mostly stopped. But the fire in her touch was what he was worried about. He knew her wounds would heal eventually, but that would not matter if she never woke up from her fever. He kept the rag on her forehead soaked in chamomile, and he traced a pentacle over her heart with the clover paste. He was not sure if it would help, but what would it matter.
Just then Lancelot remembered a necklace she wore. He reached over to wear her clothes were piled, without letting loose of her hand. It laid there. He picked it up and clasped it around her neck. It did not hang very low, just below her collarbone. It was a talisman, about the size of Rhyne's that she got from her father. Except Sparrow's was of British making, not Sarmatian. It had an encircled pentacle at the middle, surrounded by words that were engraved in a language he did not know. Tears were falling from her eyes, and he wiped them clean.
As he sat there, looking her over and he saw a few tattoos he had not yet noticed. There was the Sarmatian styled Dragon on her shoulder, the same shoulder as her mother's, but Rhyne's dragon was different. Her dragon was British, a symbol of the Druids. The one on Sparrow's shoulder was the Dragon of her grandfather's tribe, the Massagentae. Lancelot was almost convinced her father could not have been Sarmatian, but the same blood still ran through her veins. No matter how small, it was still there. But he had known of this one, it was hard to miss. It was the others he had not noticed before. On one forearm she there were words stretching from elbow to wrist. It looked like the same language as on her talisman. And the last was a symbol behind her ear that he did not know. Some sort of rune. It instantly reminded him of the tattoos Tristan wore on his cheeks. Lancelot leaned over her body and she wore the same symbol under her other ear. He would have to ask her what they mean. I don't even know what Tristan's tattoos mean.
He realized then that his head was lying upon the linens, and before he could stop himself he fall to sleep…
Lancelot found him self in a forest. He didn't recognize it. The sun was shining and the air was warm. Everything around him was green. There was a little breeze rustling through the trees. He could hear water gurgling close by; it must be a river or stream. There was a small stone made house seating in front of him, along with an area for an iron worker.
By instinct Lancelot reached for his swords behind him, but they were not there. He looked down, and had no armor. He was in a simple tunic and trousers. "Bloody Hell." At that moment the door to the house swung open and Lancelot dove behind the closest tree. A woman walked out and went behind the house. After a few moments she came back leading a horse by rope and tied the stallion to a tree, and then proceeding to groom him.
Lancelot watched her for a few moments, trying to get a good look at her face. When she finally came around the other side of the horse he stopped breathing, stopped moving. It was his Sparrow, but she was different. She was wearing a simple white wool gown. All her hair was plaited up around her shoulders. It was not long like it is suppose to be. And he noticed the dragon on her shoulder was not there, nor the symbols below her ears. He began to inch forward but slipped on a branch and fell to the ground. Sparrow turned in his direction. She was shocked to see him.
"Lancelot? Are you real?" Her back was against the horse.
"Just as real as you I suppose. Where are we?" He stood to his feet but did not step closer.
"Somewhere in the Spirit World, not in death but not the real either. It is where the dead walk until they are put to peace."
"But you are not dead." Lancelot protested.
"No, but I am close."
He started to walk closer. "Then you have to fight it."
"You cannot fight fate. A great Shaman told me that it was my fate to join that skirmish. Whether is it my time to die, or keep living he did not say. But what ever my fate it will bring you all closer to yours."
"But that's not fair. We were just starting something."
"Nothing ever is fair." Sparrow put her head down a moment and remembered something. "Why are you here? I know why I am, but why you?"
"Look at your palm." She did, and was surprised. "Rhyne did a Blood Mixing, following a healing spell." Sparrow did not look up from her hand and still held shocked eyes. "What? Is that such a shock?" Sparrow shook her head. "Then what?" Lancelot looked down at his own hand. The cut was no longer new, but had the appearance of an old scar. But she just did the spell merely hours ago? "Why is this a scar? It should be a new cut."
Sparrow's eyes wondered. "Mother was right."
Lancelot was totally confused now. "Right about what?"
Sparrow looked up at him. "I asked her about why we feel fire in our touch. She told me that is was possible that we loved each other in another life, one that is before this time. This scar," she looked down at is once more. "This scar proves that."
"How? How does it prove that?"
"By the fact that it is a scar. It proves that our blood was mixed long before the lifetime we are living now, and it explains why you are here, and why these scars are here and nothing else." Lancelot could not handle that much information. Sparrow saw his struggle. "Look, where we are is part of the Spirit Realm, but also part of our souls. This is not that first time our soul has lived, it has had many lives before this one. That is why I have none of my tattoos or scars. Look at yourself, your skin is perfect. No scars from almost fifteen years of service."
Lancelot looked at where some scars were supposed to stand. There were none. "Then why do we still have this one?" showing her his palm.
"Now that is the right question. This is the proof I spoke of. We wear these scars because our souls are connected, not only because mother just did the Blood Mixing, but in every lifetime we live together, our souls find one another. We have loved before."
It was a lot for Lancelot to handle. As a Sarmatian he grew up learning many things about life and death. The only one he ever cared about or truly believed was what his father told him the moment Rome took him away. 'There is a legend that fallen knights come back as great horses. He has seen what awaits you, and he will protect you'. And it had comforted him over the years, watching so many other brother knights die before his eyes. All for a cause that was never their own.
Lancelot looked at their surroundings. "And why are we here?"
Sparrow looked around her as well. "This is where I grew up. Where mother gave birth to me. We lived with a Druid Shaman and his daughter. This is where Hawk led her when she was in the forest. Far in the North. You would not recognize it."
"But why here? Why not the fort?"
"You are the one in my mind. I am the one about to die. You came to me, not other way around."
They were silent for a moment. Lancelot did not know what to say to someone he loved who might die, as much as he loved her. Knowing they had been together in more than one other life, it was comforting, but also sad. He knew they would meet again if she died, but if did not remember his other life's that would not matter. It would be a different 'Lancelot' who would love her. The same soul, but a different man. "You can't die on me. You have to fight."
"Like I said before, you can not fight against fate." Lancelot became angry, but mournful at the same time. If she dies, he will die…
Tristan woke with only a few hours of sleep. He felt Rhyne shift in his arms. She tightened her grip in the bit of his tunic she held in one of her hands. He could still not believe he was holding her in his arms. He thought the next time they were to meet would be in the next life, as she promised them all when they saw her getting pulled away in the wagon.
That seemed like only yesterday, and now, fourteen years later. Her daughter lies dying, and she suffers from terrifying dreams. Sparrow had told Tristan the other day that they should expect another nightmare soon…
Rhyne was embarrassing Galahad horribly because she had better knife throwing skills than he. She sat trying to teach him to hit another knife on the hilt, as only she and Tristan could do.
Tristan sat next to Sparrow on top one of the Tavern tables. Night had not yet reached them. They were the only ones in the Tavern, besides the few cooks and barmaids. Vanora stood cleaning mugs watching as Galahad scowled every time he threw the knife because he could not get the technique. She chuckled a little more each time.
Tristan sat slicing his apple. Sparrow figured it had to be his favorite food. He ate it all the time, not that it's bad for, just unusual. The other knights all favored whiskey or wine, not something that grew on a tree. He cut another piece and motioned it towards her. Sparrow took it gratefully, nodded her thanks.
Tristan had realized over the almost two weeks how different, but how alike her and Rhyne really were. Rhyne just takes, and Sparrow waits for the offer. The mother was the defiant rebel, and the daughter was the dubious follower. But they are both deadly with a sword in their hand, well, in Sparrow's case two swords.
The other thing he realized was that they were easily content with silence, and hate showing any emotion, other than laughter. They both insulted and poked fun just as much as Lancelot, and would do more than just smirk like he did. Tristan adored Rhyne's laugh. It's hard not to smile at her laugh, it is very contagious. No one ever made him change his emotion like she did. When she was happy, he was. Angry, he was. Sad, he was. When he realized this, it was at that moment he knew he loved her, still loved her.
That was the same moment he and Sparrow talked of her dreams. "It is strange that she has not had another nightmare. She would usually have had another by now." Tristan did not say anything, just looked over to Rhyne. "As the years have gone by she would have them less and less. The past year they had been around one week or so apart." He just nodded. "Being home might have something to do with it." He still said nothing. Sparrow studied him for a moment. He eyes went in Rhyne's direction. His face was ever passive, but she saw a glint in his eye. Rhyne laughed. Tristan let a small smile cross his face. Sparrow looked ahead. "Although, it may not just be that." Tristan looked at her once more, this time questionably. "You are the one she wanted to stand next to." Sparrow kept her eyes ahead, but knew Tristan was looking at her.
When Sparrow knew his eyes were off her she looked back at him. "Don't worry about her nightmares. As long as you're there she should be okay." Sparrow patted his knee and joined her mother and Galahad. She left him there, sitting in deep thought…
That was a few nights after that he finally got the courage to approach her, and that night it rained. And here they are now, lying as they are. Rhyne shifted uncomfortably. Tristan rubbed her arm softly, and she moved closer to him. He had a feeling her dreams were starting. He hugged her tighter.
Rhyne started talking lightly in her sleep. "Father…" Tristan started to rub her harder so that she might wake up before the scream. She began to fidget a lot more in his arms. "No..please.."
Tristan backed away from her and then laid her back on the bed. He put his hand on her cheek and started to call her name. "Rhyne…Rhyne wake up." She did not stop, but kept mumbling words. "Conner…I'm sorry Conner." Tristan kept calling her name, but she began to speak louder… and thrash heavier.
After her first scream Tristan tried to shake her awake, but it still had no response to her, she was in deep. "CONNER!" Rhyne gave out a blood curdling scream, but then it stopped suddenly, and she went silent. Tristan propped her up against him. He shook her until she woke up, frightened. She shot off the bed and into the corner. She put her knees to her chest and was breathing hard. Tristan approached her slowly. "Rhyne, can you hear me?" She looked him in the eye, and eventually nodded. "Are you okay?" She nodded, but Tristan knew she wasn't. He picked her up and hugged her to him on the bed. "It's okay. You are safe now."
Suddenly, she acted as if a jolt of pain was in her stomach. Her hand went to shelter it, and her face gave a silent scream. "What, what is it?" Tristan was covered in worry. When Rhyne finally relaxed against the pain she put her head back and whispered, "Guinevere…" then dropped into a dreamless sleep.
Lancelot and Sparrow still stood in their dreams. He had just told her to keep fighting. Do not give into death. And she wouldn't. 'I can not fight fate, Lancelot. No one can.' So he sat, waiting. Waiting for her to die, to just give up. This was not the Sparrow he fell in love with. "Do not scorn me, Lancelot. I do my duty, even if that is dying. I would gladly meet death to make sure you, Arthur and the other knights meet the right fates. I know you would not let me die in vain." But she would. If she gave in, all would be lost, for everyone, not just him.
"How can you do this? Giving up. It's not like you." Lancelot protested.
"Lancelot. This is my fate-" but she could not finish. There was a rustle in the woods behind them and a young man stepped before them.
"You have much yet to learn, child." He was tall, and commanding, Dressed in British clothes. His hair was mud brown, but it was his eyes that were striking. Diamond blue gleams stared out from his chestnut skin.
"Who are you?" Lancelot asked forcefully.
The man smiled. "In this realm, we are all who we wish to be. Young, old, beautiful, or ugly. In this world you are what you're soul is, not what your person is."
They just stared him in response. Sparrow spoke up. "What do you want?"
"To give you a message." They looked at him questionably. "You are both missed, in the real world. None believe you will survive. You both must wake, so your paths may be completed. You do not belong in this realm."
"I know my fate, and that is to die to direct them on their right path." Sparrow pointed out.
"Your fate is not always spelled out before you. You are not always shown the way. Sometimes you must choose your fate before fate chooses you."
"How are we missed? I am only sleeping." Lancelot said.
The man smiled. "Because your souls are connected, she pulled you into her soul, and so into her condition. Your knights need you. The wheel of life must keep on turning."
"What do you mean?" Sparrow asked. "How can we fight this? Why is it not my time yet?"
"I can not answer that. I am not the Master of Fate, just the messenger. And the only way to fight against death is with the power of love." With that he disappeared.
They were both left speechless. There was only one thing they understood, and that was the world still needed them. "Now will you fight? Will you come back with me?" Lancelot turned to Sparrow.
"Any messenger that reached us here must be a wise one. Like he said, I still have much to learn." Sparrow held out her scarred hand to him. He was taken aback. "Only with the Power of Love can death be beaten." Lancelot suddenly understood her words. Slowly his scarred hand met hers and the Spirit Realm faded from them, and all their pain returned…
How was it? How long do you think they were unconscious? What about the 'young man'? Who was he? I think I made it obvious enough.
