Author's notes: I'm so happy that many of you are still sticking with my story and continuing to leave such great reviews. It's even nicer that I've picked up new readers who decided to comment, and also those who've chosen to follow and favourite this story. I really appreciate all your support and encouragement.
Again in this chapter I've used a few spells. Some I've borrowed from the show and ones which I've altered just a little to fit in with this new time and place.
Please read and, hopefully, enjoy.
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Chapter Twenty-five
The Wrath of Cornelius Sigan
In Fiona's spacious kitchen, the five friends sat around the table, having just enjoyed a large pot of her home-made soup and a tasty Scottish dish of stovies. It was plain food, but nourishing and for what they were about to do tonight, it was ideal.
The low evening sun slanted through the west-facing window, while dust motes glimmered and danced in the red-gold rays. Leonard sat with his back towards the window, his face in shadow, his auburn hair highlighted by the approaching twilight. He'd spoken very little since his session with Fiona, though he'd eaten well and he'd reviewed his intention of leaving. In fact, he'd shocked himself and the others by agreeing to accompany them to the island. He had no logical reason for changing his mind, he only knew he had to get to the bottom of this mystery in which he'd, inadvertently, become embroiled. Since his announcement, the group had respected his silence, though every now and then each one of them had glanced at him, trying to gauge his mood. Finally, he chose to speak up.
"So, I really was brainwashed by this Mark Cornwallis?" he asked, directing his question at Gwen.
"We think so. You did pick him out from the photos I showed you on the internet," she pointed out, kindly. "And he does fit the description you gave, a man of average height, slightly built with a narrow face and dark, thinning hair."
"One thing you did admit was that it wasn't Arthur," Drew added, just a little caustically. He knew exactly where Leonard was coming from. Only a few days ago he'd been in that self-same place, but he understood that the sooner Leon accepted the strange truth, the better it would be for all of them. Besides, if they were to finish cleansing the waters tonight, they didn't have time to babysit an unbeliever.
"I suppose. But how could this Cornwallis guy do what he did without me realising?"
The women looked at each other, but it was Fiona who answered. "Because he has a great gift which is rare in today's world. It's a skill which is remembered only by a few. Most ordinary people disbelieve it, or ridicule it... but it is very real. The trouble is that some unscrupulous people with this power use it for their own ends."
"And Cornwallis has this power?"
"Yes! It's ma..."
"We believe he does," Gwen's words cut across Fiona's candid explanation, while her warning stare bored into the older woman. Gwen was conscious of Arthur's wish that everyone should remember in their own time, but, more than that, she wasn't sure if Leonard was ready for the whole magic and rebirth conversation.
"He's probably studied hypnotism somewhere... like that guy on TV," Drew said helpfully, abruptly changing his mind and backing Gwen instead. Remembering how badly he'd reacted to the whole reincarnation subject, he was quite happy to leave it up to Merlin or Arthur to explain later. Right at the moment, Leonard was prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt and that was good enough for him. This would be the first time they'd cleared a flooded quarry during the night, and according to his research, the Torsay quarries went pretty deep. Another helping hand was welcome. Besides, Sir Leon had been a good man to have beside you in a fight and his modern counterpart looked pretty fit too.
Drew had no idea why he suspected any trouble on this particular occasion. He only knew that whoever had created the boiling waters had gone to a lot of bother and he doubted the magic user would be pleased when he realised all his efforts had been in vain. They did have Fiona on their side, but he wasn't sure that an elderly lady who practised healing magic would be a match for a malevolent sorcerer.
The five made their preparations as the sun sank below the horizon, leaving behind it a vista of faded blue sky scattered with thin clouds tinted bronze, red and gold. Soon the colours would vanish, but in this part of north-west Scotland at this time of year, darkness would not completely blanket the land nor sea.
They climbed aboard their motorboat and headed for Torsay. The water in the Firth of Lorn was unusually calm, pinpricked with silver, mirroring the muted stars which glowed in the pale firmament above them, while the moon floated like an orange disc in the sky, lighting the way. Their journey was short, pleasant though silent, no one wishing to disturb the beautiful stillness of the night.
Soon they were disembarking with their gear on an old wooden pier on the east coast of the island. In the moonlight, all four made their way along a grassy path towards the first and largest of the quarries to begin their work. There was a second quarry on the south western coast which needed their attention, but Drew believed that with the help of the Vilia he could finish his task in a few hours and, since Fiona had been using the cleansing spell frequently over the past few days, she could purify the waters quickly. They would be back on Easdale before dawn.
Drew wasted no time in donning his wetsuit and breathing apparatus before slipping beneath the deep, murky waters. Left on the shore, the others turned up their collars against a rising west wind which cooled the air and waited, Leonard less than patient to see what it was Drew was searching for. He suspected some kind of pressurised cylinders containing a concoction of gas and chemicals. So, he was somewhat surprised when the diver surfaced much sooner than he'd thought possible and was even more taken aback by his haul. How had Drew managed to find so many small objects in the short time he'd been submerged?
And how could such items cause the flooded quarries to erupt like hot springs? Laid on the ground before him was an array of ancient looking silver and gold bracelets and amulets... not at all the sort of things he had expected.
"What the hell?" Leonard spluttered, then gasped as all around Drew golden tinged bubbles formed in the air and a female voice seemed to emanate from the largest globule.
"Lancelot, this quarry is clear. Alice, you may now do your work."
The diver removed his mask and Leonard noticed he was smiling, not in any way concerned by the talking bubble which looked remarkably like the face of a pretty woman. In the background, Leonard was vaguely aware of Fiona chanting some words in her ancient Gaelic. What had he got himself into? He felt like he might still be asleep and dreaming in the front room of the cottage, under the effects of the herbalist's potion. Yet the edge of the cold breeze on his face and hands told him differently. Somehow, this was only too real.
"Come on," Gwen said, bending down to shovel the gold and silver jewellery into an old backpack, which she slung over her shoulders and strapped tightly. "We have one more quarry to cleanse, then we can all go home." She glanced over at Leonard, weighing up his blank expression. "Are you coming, Leonard? I know this is strange, but we will explain everything later. Right now, we still have to complete the job."
As all the others were already walking off down the overgrown track towards the western edge of the island, treading carefully as they went, Leonard found himself meekly following. Though what he'd witnessed made his senses reel, he couldn't help but see this... 'thing', whatever it was, through to the end.
The plan was to finish within an hour or so, but unfortunately the group were not alone. Almost at the same time as they'd reached Torsay, a large, sleek raven alighted on the highest point of the isle, preening its feathers before morphing into the shape of a slim man with a pale face topped by sparse brown hair. His cold obsidian eyes watched intently as these puny humans worked on the first quarry, rage threatening to overtake his soul.
This was why Arthur Penderel had brought his friends to these islands and why the waters were now mirror-like and serene and, if they had managed to disenchant the tarns, then there must be magic users amongst them. Of course, no one with powers to match his own, as they were just about to discover. The time to punish these inconvenient upstarts had arrived.
He raised his hands high, turning... turning, his feathered cloak swaying glossy and black under the moonlight, as he called to the skies and the dark goddesses.
"I am returned to Albion!"
From way out over the ocean, thunder rumbled.
"Ic cume eft to Albion, swa thaet ic maeg min faehth awrecan! Nu ic lybbe ece and ic ameg raedan min burh!"
Beneath his feet the earth reverberated, a gigantic mythical beast awakening, growling violently in its lair. The trees shook down to their very roots, their leaves trembling in the wind, while boulders, large and small, were spewed over the surface of the soil. Along the shoreline, rocks heaved their craggy edges above the waves like broken fangs.
But Sigan's anger wasn't appeased. He needed to destroy those who opposed him.
Throwing his head back, he incanted again, "Cume oferweder! Tidrenas!"
The wind rose to a swirling gale as storm clouds gathered in the heavens above the island, shot through with lightning bolts. Cold rain fell without mercy.
Taken unawares by the sudden change in weather, the two men and three women trudging along the path above the sea were scattered like ninepins to the ground. They staggered around, trying to help each other stand, Leonard grabbing hold of Fiona, who'd fallen directly in front of him. Freya clung to a small bush which was bent almost double in the wild wind, her fingers torn and bleeding by its thorns, yet she held on till Leonard and her aunt reached her.
Huddling together for support, they searched desperately around them for Gwen and Drew, but could see no one through the driving wind and rain. Freya roared their names into the buffeting wind.
"Gwen! Drew! Where are you?" But her voice was carried away by the gale.
"We have to try to get back to the lee side of the island and try to find the boat," Leonard said, though to be honest, he wasn't totally sure they should take to the water in this storm. Nevertheless, the island didn't seem like the safest place to be either.
"No! We can't go without Gwen or Drew," Freya shouted into his ear. "We have to find them."
"I agree!" Fiona nodded her head violently, since voices could hardly be heard above the howl of the tempest.
"I understand how you feel, but we can look for them as we go back," Leonard offered, feeling guilty, yet also accepting the responsibility for the safety of the two women who held onto him so tightly. "I'm sure Drew will have Gwen safe and they'll be seeking shelter on the other side of the land. The wind's coming in from the Atlantic."
Actually, the gale seemed to be swirling from all angles, but Leonard felt that the eastern shore would offer them the best refuge, since it faced the mainland. Although the women despaired at leaving their friends behind, they did agree that wandering blindly around in such a storm would hardly aid Gwen or Drew. Moving as one, they stumbled and swayed, retracing their steps along the path, propelled by the wind at their back.
Unknown to the trio, Gwen had been blown over the edge of the track and down the steep slope towards the flooded shore, where the malevolent waves smashed one after another against the rocks. Drew hadn't hesitated for a second, throwing himself after her, plunging into the sea. A strong swimmer, and already wearing a wet suit, Drew tread water as best he could to search for the woman he'd once loved with all his heart and soul and whom he could easily fall in love with all over again. He admitted that now.
Though finding a single, petite person in this roiling tide was nearly impossible, but giving up wasn't an option. He'd never forgive himself if he couldn't save Gwen... and neither would Arthur, the man he'd pledged to support in two lifetimes.
Not far away, swept along in the maelstrom, in danger of being crushed against the rocks, Gwen could barely keep her face above water. Breakers surged over her head, threatening to drown her, and only her grim determination forced her to kick up to the surface again. On her back, the bag with the enchanted jewellery was dragging her under, but she felt unreasonably compelled to keep hold of it. Besides, she wasn't sure if she was up to the hassle of removing it, so entangled had the wretched thing become with her hair and clothes.
But she was tiring... and the water was so cold, the relentless pounding draining her courage and stamina. She was too exhausted to fight on. With her heart breaking, Gwen bade goodbye to her Arthur as she surrendered to pull of the sea.
Yet, it was not Gwen's time to die. Instead, a larger wave swept her up against a cracked pillar of rock where the troublesome backpack lodged in the crevice. For long moments, she dangled there, a sodden rag of flotsam, then dragging all the breath she could into her lungs, Gwen screeched for help since her lips were too frozen to form actual words.
"God, help me find her. Don't let her die!" Drew pleaded over and over as he searched the seething waves.
He wiped the salty spume from his eyes and, as if in an answer to his prayer, the waters and the winds stilled for just a split second and he heard Gwen's scream; a cry that was quickly cut off by the return of the storm. Yet it was enough to point him in the right direction. He began swimming north along the shoreline and there, clinging to a rock with the last of her strength, he saw Gwen. Striking out with all his skill, he tried to reach her. He would not let her down as he had once in Hengist's lair. With almost superhuman determination, he powered through the stormy waters to reach her side.
Gwen, however, was spent. No longer able to bear her weight, one of the rucksack's straps tore and she slipped from her temporary haven. Down below the water she sank, but Drew refused to abandon her. He dived after her, dragging her to the surface and shouting, "Gwen! Gwen, it's me. Don't fight me. I'm here to help."
"Arthur?"
"No. It's Drew!"
"Lancelot," Gwen gasped, collapsing into his arms as tears mingled with the seawater streaming down her cheeks. "Thank you... tha..." But she had no more breath to speak.
Drew lifted her back up onto the the narrow shelve of rock, holding her there while attempting to capture her stare. "Gwen, we have to get you out of the water or you'll die of hypothermia, but it means swimming the short distance to the shore. Let's get rid of that bag first."
"No! No, we can't," Gwen cried, sounding on the edge of hysteria. "It saved my life. We need it. It has magic."
Not understanding, yet knowing they didn't have the time nor the energy to argue, Drew decided to humour Gwen. "OK. If you feel you need it, we'll look after it. I can help you, but you have to put your trust in me. Can you do that, Gwen?"
In the now deep, black night, Drew thought he saw a ghost of a smile touch Gwen's lips. "With all my heart," she whispered close against his cheek.
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On the island, Freya and Fiona with Leonard shepherding them along finally managed to reach the quarry they'd de-enchanted before the storm, but now they had to clamber higher up the slope as the tidal rush from the sound was breaking over the quarry's outer edges and flooding over the path. The elderly lady stumbled and would have fallen into the lochan which had now become part of the firth had it not been for Leonard's strong arm catching her. Thankfully, however, it seemed that the worst of their troubles were over. Once they'd cleared that particular hurdle and started back towards the pier, the wooded hill awarded them some shelter and they were able to make more speed.
Yet here they discovered a very strange sight. Farther out in the channel between the island and the mainland, both the Sound of Lorn and the weather appeared fairly calm. It seemed only the island of Torsay and its surrounding water was hit by the tempest.
"How the devil does that happen?" Leonard asked, swiping at the water that dripped continually from his hair down his face and neck and running under his jacket and shirt, making him feel even more out of sorts.
Silently, Freya concurred with 'the devil', while her aunt said, barely audibly, "Sorcery!"
Too bemused to listen to Fiona's suggestion, Leonard did, however, realise that something dire and unfamiliar had happened. He'd heard of localised storms, had heard amazing reports of hailstones the size of golf balls... had even heard about raining frogs... but was it possible to experience a tempest on one small island when less than a mile off the weather looked calm and clement? In the past twenty-four hours he'd witnessed happenings that beggared belief.
But his biggest worry was whether it would be possible to reach that safe haven in their small motorboat. They would still have to navigate a stretch of tumultuous sea.
"I don't know about you, but I think we should stay here for now," he suggested, after some consideration. "I know you're both islanders, so you probably know more than me about boats and currents, but I think it's too risky to take to the water yet. It might not be very pleasant here in the wind and rain, but I think we'll be safer."
Freya looked up at him accusingly, her voice sharp as she answered. "Of course we're staying here. We haven't found Gwen and Drew yet and we're not leaving without them."
Leonard nodded in contrition, but felt the ladies needed to face up to a sad and cruel possibility. "True... and I'm sorry. We should wait for a bit, but it might be that... that we've lost them for good. Out in that storm, anything could have happened." Freya's angry stare struck him almost physically, causing him to stammer another apology. "I know and I'm sorry. It's too soon to give up on them yet. Drew seems like a very capable man..."
"You don't realise how much," Freya countered, pushing her black hair out of her eyes and scanning the path behind them with an equal measure of wishful thinking and despair, praying to see the couple appear. "And Gwen's not the type to give up either. They'll be hiding somewhere safe, waiting for the storm to abate."
"Yes, and when it does, we can go looking for them," Fiona announced, putting an end to Leonard's unspoken recommendation to leave the island when the wind and rain cleared. "They could be hurt and are just waiting for our help, and I intend to make sure they get it." With the gravitas of age, Fiona finished the argument. "We arrived on this island together and that's the way we're leaving... together!"
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Eventually, Drew and Gwen won their fight against the ocean and were washed up on the shelving bank by the tide. They lay exhausted, arms still entwined, until a stronger wave threatened to suck them back into the vortex.
"Gwen, come on. We've got to climb to higher ground." Gwen's eyes remained shut, her lashes seemingly glued to her skin by a mixture of smudged eye makeup and drying sea salt, but behind her lids, the involuntary movement of her eyes betrayed her agitation. "Gwen! Please. You can't sleep here. It's too dangerous. I can't lose you now."
The desperation in Drew's voice reached Gwen and she lifted her head, her eyes fluttering open. "You won't lose me. But I'm so tired. Can't I rest for a bit?"
"I'm sorry, sweetheart." The endearment slipped out and Drew cursed himself, yet Gwen didn't appear to mind. He leaned closer and wrapped his arms tightly around her. "The waves can still reach us here. We have to move. I'll help you as much as I can."
Thankfully, she responded and attempted to lift herself up to her knees where she remained, swaying back and forth, her muscles buckling under the strain. "Sorry. I don't think I can stand," she explained on a sob.
Drew shook his head. "Don't worry. We don't have to. Maybe it's better if we crawl."
An unexpected laugh broke from her mouth which turned into a hacking cough as sea water was expelled from her lungs. There was another interminable wait for the convulsions to subside before she could reply. "I think I can manage a crawl, Lancelot."
Drew was completely taken aback at the name. That was the second time she'd called him Lancelot and she never used that name in this present time. Was it a simple mistake brought on by exhaustion and stress, or was she hallucinating, or had she lost her memory? She might have hit her head on the rocks while she was in the water. However, true to her word, she began edging up the slope, leaning heavily on his shoulder and still dragging that blasted bag behind her. The possible explanations bore down on Drew, but what did it matter? The immediate task was to get her to safety and they could worry about head traumas later.
Inch by inch, he encouraged her to scramble crablike up the muddy bank. Once, his heart leapt into his throat as they slipped and slid backwards in a welter of rain, spume and slime. He dug in, braced himself with his hands and feet, his body shielding her, cradling her until he steadied their descent.
He began to climb again, hauling an almost unconscious Gwen after him, till at last, they reached the safety of the path. Only then did he allow himself to rest, his breathing erratic, his muscles cramped and hurting. How long he lay there he wasn't sure. It could have been a few minutes, or half an hour, before Gwen's violent shivering stirred his befuddled mind. Her body was in danger of going into shock and his military training took over.
With hands almost numb with cold, he peeled off his wet suit, leaving only his lycra dive skin and knelt beside her. Lifting her off the ground, he pulled her as close to his body as possible, trying to share what little was left of his own heat. He cleared the mud and dirt from her mouth and nose, making sure her airway was open and was relieved when he felt her breath stabilize against his face. Systematically, he began rubbing her limbs, hoping to aid the circulation in her arms and legs and was rewarded when her eyes opened. Her gaze, at first blank, slowly focussed on his face, still tired and confused, but with a spark of her inborn tenderness.
"Thank you. You saved me."
He smiled back at her, his brown eyes filling with tears. "Always, Gwen. But now we have to get out of here. Find the others and get off this damned island." Brave as ever, Gwen ignored her pain and weakness and tried to stand. "No, Gwen. I'll carry you."
It took some moments for Drew to find his own strength and the rain still fell relentlessly, though the wind had eased to a stiff blow. He slipped one arm under her knees while his other surrounded her shoulders, his hand tucked in the pit of her arm, then he stood erect. His earlier efforts, when he'd searched for her in the waves, had weakened him, but he held fast until his legs stopped shaking. With every ounce of his will he forced himself to walk back along the ruined pathway, avoiding, as best he could, the deeper pools of water and the trees and bushes which the wind had brought down.
She laid her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder, her light breath warm on his skin, though he tried valiantly to ignore the sensation of desire she provoked in him. Gwen belonged to another... his friend. But he couldn't resist the surge of hope which threatened to overtake him as she whispered, contentedly.
"You came for me. I knew you would, Lancelot. I knew you wouldn't abandon me." Weakly, her hand came up and touched his cheek, his lips.
"Never!" he vowed, a lover's promise. Yet after a shaky jolt of his heart, he thrust his feelings aside. "We'll be safe soon. We'll find the others and we'll get back to Easdale. Fiona will look after you... and then I'll take you back to Arthur. But, Gwen, when we're with Leonard, perhaps it would be safer if you didn't call me Lancelot." He stopped for a moment to engage her eyes. "I'm Drew. Remember?"
But she shook her head hesitantly, her brows drawing down in doubt, her beautiful eyes full of questions. "I don't understand. Why would you take me to Arthur? And who is Drew?"
Witnessing the scene from a dead and broken tree on the hill, Sigan was almost beside himself with glee. There was a shimmer in the air and the sorcerer's eyes turned as hard as polished jet as he incanted his glamour spell.
"Awendednes!"
The raven which moments before had been a man, cawed hilariously before launching itself from its perch into the smoke-black, churning clouds, beating its way through the tempest, soaring on the updraughts. Oh, this was priceless. His rival was about to lose his one true love and he'd never even initiated that result. How would Arthur deal with the betrayal by his girlfriend and his best friend?
Satisfied, the bird directed its flight towards the south and safety, leaving behind a trail of devastation and broken dreams. The Isle of Torsay and Arthur and his small band of brothers would not forget his first night of revenge.
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I hope you liked a chapter with a little more action in it. I have been building up to this for quite some time. Unfortunately, there will be some unhappy consequences for one of our heroes... but all might not be lost.
Do please let me know your opinion of my latest offering, good or bad. I look forward to hearing from you all.