Wendy: Thanks for the name "Malachy"
by Jessica French (Midnite363@aol.com)
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The dream was cliche. She was standing in the middle of a wide open field. The grass was a lush dark green that reached to her knees. The sky was dark, overcast with storm clouds. The clouds were swirling, rolling over the sky in a race against themselves. Flashes of silent lightning illuminated the sky at odd intervals. The wind whipped violently, sending her hair in a black wave behind her. She raised a hand to her eyes, looking out over the landscape. She was surprised to see that her arm was clad in black from wrist to shoulder. Further inspection of her attire showed that she was dressed in a dress as black as her hair. It fell to her ankles, clinging to her curves, emphasizing her hips. The neck line was straight cut just above her breasts.
A gust of strong wind had her looking up again. What was she doing here? Where was here?
"A field of course, what does it look like to you?" a muffled voice said behind her.
When Shannon turned around she saw who the muffled voice belonged to. A man was behind her. He was dressed very strangely. He wore black pants and boots, a black cloak whipped around his shoulders and fell to just below his knees. He wore a wide brimmed black flop hat was atop his head. Shannon took all that in easily. What made her draw short of her inspection of the man was his face. His face was covered by a black mask. A grotesque wide toothed, white grin was sewed into the fabric and the nose of the mask was long and curved. The eye holes were the only opening to the man's true self, and the only color on him. His eyes were a livid, stunning blue. He stood perfectly straight and still, despite the whipping wind that thrashed and assaulted them both.
Shannon swallowed back her initial fear of the costumed man and replied, "It looks like a field to me too, but it is not a place I have ever been, nor do I remember how I got here." She tilted her head, realizing that despite the environment they were in, she could hear him perfectly and she didn't have to shout over the wind to talk to him. It was perfectly silent in their dreamscape.
A soft laugh floated to her from the mask, "Dreamscape is accurate."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Malachy, and your is Shannon. I am a friend. I brought you here to speak with you about this." He spread his arms, indicating the landscape in which they stood.
Shannon nodded her head in greeting. "Then if you are such a friend you will not protest to removing your mask, it is horrible." To Shannon's surprise he did remove it and revealed a face of handsome beauty. He removed the flop hat as well and a wash of chestnut colored hair fell forward in the wind. His face was smooth and flawless, his eyes brightened with the presence of his hair in them. He ran a black gloved hand back through the hair, removing it from his face, and smiled at her. His grin was much less frightening than the stitched grin on his mask. He tucked the hat and mask under his arm. "Much better. Now if you will be so kind as to tell me why you brought me here, and how."
"A dream, I told you. The first of several to come if I have my way. I brought you here to tell you about your very special guest. One that you are very interested in. Do you know who that is, my lady Shannon?"
"Damon."
He nodded, his lips molding back into a serious line. "Yes, Damon Salvatore, who has come to your home in search of more than just Scottish hospitality. Do you know what I am talking about?"
Shannon shook her head and shivered as a blade of wind cut through her thin dress.
"He came, once, to talk to the Lord Drake of a business venture. He wished to use his riches to help fund the oncoming battle. A Rising, which will fall upon your lands within the next year. Damon Salvatore wishes to see Charles Edward Stuart over come the English throne of George II. His reasons for that .... Charles Edward Stuart is a friend of his. The Bonnie Prince is not a stranger to Italian soil."
Shannon shook her head, "But that is great! Damon has money and if he can help fund my father's alliance to the Charles then... what is the wrong in that?"
Malachy smirked, "I said /once/ he came to fund Lord Drake's alliance. He does not hold the same convictions anymore." He paused, and the rolling clouds continued to roll quickly through the sky, and flashes of lightning illuminated the landscape for a moment. It was getting darker. "Now, he wishes to make you understand. You see, I believe Damon Salvatore has come to feel for you. He admires your strength, and is in love with your blood." When Shannon's hand went unconsciously to the side of her throat, the side Damon had used, Malachy nodded. "The first step has been overcome, you are a believer. Rightfully so, a liar Damon Salvatore is not. He is everything that he says he is."
"I believe now, that he is a vampire, like he says, even though the notion is beyond anything I could of ever possibly imagined. I still don't understand why you brought me here."
"Do you desire to become like him, my lady Shannon Drake? A creature of the forever night, hunting, living on the blood of your unwilling donors? I know the future, I've lived the past and I have come to clarify both to you, if you wish to hear."
"I...." her mouth shut on her words. Know the future, he said. He could tell her what her future held for her, he could tell her what the oncoming Rising would bring, and how it would affect her people. Malachy was also asking if she desired to become a vampire, like Damon. The thought never had occured to her. Did she want to become a creature of the forever night? Her mind pushed the problem aside and dealt with the problem in closer danger of happening. Knowing the future might give her a knowledge on how to save her family and her people from the violence. But knowing the future....
"Comes with a responsibility," Malachy finished for her. He shifted his weight from one thick boot to the other, his face remained forever neutral. "You may deal with the future of your people now, the future of your life can be discussed later." He looked down at the flowing grass, then slanted a look up at her through his thick lashes. He looked purely evil when he did that. "Make a decision, my time with you runs short."
"Tell me," she blurted her heart's wish. "Tell me everything, and leave nothing back, especially if it involves my people." She clutched her hands together in front of her, and wished with all her being that her decision was a wise one.
He tossed his hair from his eyes, his chin slightly inclined, his eyes on the sky above. "The last battle of the '45, as it will be known as, takes place on Culloden field. Charles Edward Stuart and his band of Highlanders will meet the Duke of Cumberland and his band of dragoons. The Highland army will perish, losing this final battle and the Bonnie Prince will flee, back to Italy. A group, under the command of their Lord Drake, will go to Culloden and perish. All of them." He paused for a moment, his gaze returning to Shannon was laced with boredom that he did not feel. His voice was dispassionate, though, as he related the story to her.
Her lips pursed and nodded, "You imply that my father and brothers will die on the field along with our men. And what of our home, or estate?"
"The days following the Battle of Culloden will see the countryside in chaos. The English will come into your estate, take whatever they see of value, whether it be inanimate possessions or the women and children. They will burn the rest. Your live stock will be slaughtered, your fields burned. The estate will be left destroyed and the Drake name extinguished with it's heirs."
"Now you imply that I am to die in this attack."
He simply nodded. "Dead but not lost, my lovely lady of Drake."