Chapter 12 - The Reuniting
"I knew your noble nature would attract the dark forces, forces that only you can fight. Wielding the Witchblade means you also have to defend it."
Ian Nottingham (about Sara)
Gabe was jolted awake, finding himself in a strange room. Surprised that he had fallen asleep, it took him a while to remember this was Nottingham's cabin. A dim light shown down the hall, illuminating some of his surroundings. He had lain down on the oversized, dark green sofa in front of the small fireplace. Nottingham had shown him how to make a blazing fire. Along with its comforting warmth, the fire's crackling and hissing sounds had lulled him to sleep. That had been an hour and forty-five minutes ago according to his watch. The flames had since died to red glowing embers, the chill reclaiming the room.
Gabriel had not remembered throwing a quilt over himself, but was happy to have it. It seemed strange that Nottingham had thought to see to his comfort with Sara so much on his mind. Yet, that is exactly what must have happened. He threw off the blanket and sat upright, rubbing his face in his hands, trying to fully recover.
He tried to place just why he had awakened so abruptly. True, this was not his bed and he found himself sleeping in the same clothes he had worn that day, but it must have been something else. The room was deathly quiet. Ah, yes…the quiet. He smiled in the dark. Being a city guy, the quiet had probably awakened him. His apartment routinely filled with the sounds of the streets while he slept. For him, that was equivalent to a lullaby. Standing, he stretched his back and wandered down the hall to where Ian had indicated the bathroom could be found.
The dim lighting he had noticed was coming from the bedroom where Sara was resting. Her door was opened, so he took a quick glance inside. The room was sparsely furnished, functional by simple design. A small wooden nightstand was placed on either side of the double bed, with a solitary porcelain lamp faintly burning on the nightstand to the left. No other adornments were in the room. Sara had slept in her clothes as well, but had a thick comforter over her, colored in various greens and gold. She seemed a bit restless but Gabriel saw no cause for alarm.
Nottingham was sprawled in a small cushioned chair by her bedside, resting his head and shoulders at her side. Excaliber graced his right hand that was loosely atop hers. His trademark leather gloves were partially stuffed in a pocket of his black coat, lying across the only other chair in the room, located in the far corner. Ian's head was facing the bedroom door, so Gabe knew he was fast asleep. His breathing was steady and measured. Scratching his head, Gabriel proceeded down the hall to complete the task at hand, so to speak.
Sara was indeed restless. Images forced their way into her brain, against her will, but she was too weak to fight them. The voices had never fully departed, but were a faint murmur in the back of her mind, being replaced by the sights and sounds of an ancient battlefield.
The metallic smell of blood seemed so real. Smoke filled the air, obscuring her vision yet camouflaged the smell of death. Small fires had been started after the onslaught of the archers and their weapons of flaming arrows. Clad in tanned hides and ancient metal shielding, the bloodied bodies of the dead were strewn across an empty, furrowed field. No crop would grow here now. Death had claimed its fruitfulness with the blood of these poor souls long since gone from this world.
Peering through the eyes of a female warrior, Sara could see the woman had an amulet like her own missing one, but as cruelty would have it, she could not feel the connection to it. There would be no reprieve from her torment, even in your dreams. Sara found herself stepping over the remains of the dead, as if she had actually been a part of the battle. Her arms were covered in blood and she could feel its stickiness on her face as well.
Walking towards a statuesque and powerful woman with raven hair and piercing dark green eyes, the woman seemed to be awaiting her approach. She, too, was covered in the vestiges of war. With a broad sword slung on her back and a metal shield in her left hand, the mighty woman wore a red amulet on her wrist, similar to Sara's missing Gauntlet. As if in slow motion, the dark-haired warrior began to speak, but no sound came forth at first, as if her voice was being projected across time itself. With her words, however, the voices in Sara's mind ceased to distract her. All of Sara's attention was focused on the powerful warrior before her.
"It is time, wielder. Evil comes your way." Her eyes penetrated deep within Sara's soul as she spoke. "Seek that which is rightfully yours…with your Protector's help. He will know my name." Her words filled Sara's mind with their urgency.
"He will know my name." Sara knew, without question, that the warrior had referred to Nottingham…as her Protector.
Without words, an understanding flooded Sara's mind. The refusal by the blade had been a test of her resolve, a probe into her commitment to brandishing justice…and an endeavor to discover the true depth of her Protector's determination. Filled with the force of her warrior bloodline, it was now up to her to risk everything to reclaim it.
"Wait…Don't leave!" Sara gasped aloud as she sat bolt upright in bed, awakening her sleeping Protector.
"Sara. Are you all right? No, I will not leave you." Still groggy with sleep, he sat on the edge of the bed, enfolding her in his arms.
Gabriel rushed into the room, hearing Sara's muffled cry. "Is she okay? What happened?"
Reluctantly pulling herself from his arms, she searched Ian's eyes before she attempted to answer Gabe's question. Nottingham tilted his head, watching her carefully, awaiting her response.
"It's time. I have to regain what's mine." She looked across to Gabriel but her eyes settled on Nottingham, knowing he would know what to do next.
"I have found the Witchblade, Sara. Are you sure this is what you want?" His dark, brown eyes never strayed from her gaze. Gabriel moved closer to the bed, listening intently for her answer.
"Yes. I am prepared to reclaim it…as my right. Will you help me, Ian?" She pleaded, grasping his hands in hers.
"Always, my love. I am with you in life…and in death." He tenderly brushed back the hair from her face and gently kissed her forehead. Rising up off the bed, he walked toward his coat and searched his pocket.
Gabriel was still not sure if this was the right thing to do, but Sara was radiating such composure and assuredness that she had not displayed since loosing the ancient weapon. It filled him with confidence on her decision to once again take on the responsibility of a true wielder. It did not, however, insulate him from the tears filling his eyes as he watched Nottingham kneel by her bedside, holding the Gauntlet in his right hand, knowing Sara might still die attempting to selflessly bring justice to this world.
Throwing back the comforter, still wearing her jeans and sweatshirt, she set her feet firmly on the floor by the bed. With her left hand, she reached for Gabriel's. She smiled as if to say farewell.
"I love you, Gabriel. No recriminations if this doesn't work out, okay? This is my choice." Sara nodded, almost choking on her words.
"I love you too, Chief." A solitary tear fell down Gabriel's cheek. "No regrets."
"You had better step back, not sure what's going to happen." Reluctantly, Gabe took a few steps closer to the door. Not for his own safety, but so she would not needlessly worry about him.
Sara then turned her attention to the man kneeling at her feet, who clutched the blade in his hand. The tears were clearly glistening in her eyes.
"And you…I know it is useless to ask you not to blame yourself." Sara gazed lovingly into her favorite pair of eyes in the whole world. His own eyes brimmed with tears.
"I know that if something happens to me…you will not be able to live with the guilt you are bound to inflict upon yourself. I wish this were not true…with all my heart." She pulled him to her bosom, cradling his head in her hands.
"I promise you this, Ian Christian Nottingham. I will know you…and I will find you in the next lifetime…and in the one thereafter…for as long as my soul exists." Sara did not know how this was true, but she wanted to believe it with all her heart.
Listening once more for the comforting rhythm of her heart, as she held him close, Nottingham knew that he would welcome death with opened arms rather than living without her. He looked into her eyes, then kissed her lips tenderly, trembling as they touched. His tears flowing freely now, mingling with hers.
"And my spirit shall not rest until I have found you, my Beloved. It is our Destiny." Ian vowed.
Gabriel knew he was witnessing something ethereal. In this lifetime, they were called Ian and Sara…in the next, who knows. Yet their love would endure. Of this, he was certain. At that instant, the man named for an archangel closed his eyes, sending his prayers to the heavens. He was not ready to say farewell to his friend Sara Pezzini…or his newfound acquaintance Ian Nottingham. He was not a religious kind of guy, but it would not hurt to send some good energy to all that was cosmic in this universe, he thought.
Sara extended her right hand to Nottingham, willing him without words to place the Witchblade on her wrist. Holding her hand in his, raising it to his lips for a gentle kiss, he then placed the ancient weapon on her wrist once more. He clasped his right hand, with Excaliber, over her hand and called upon the ring's power.
"Banrighinn! Shield this true wielder from harm. Cleave to her as I have. Claim her as your own." Holding Sara's gaze, Nottingham's voice resounded throughout the room, escaping into the expanse of the heavens.
Emanating from Excaliber, a blinding light pierced the dark room, swirling to encircle the wielder and her Protector. The luminous sanctuary surrounded their bodies in a solid mass of light. Every cell in their bodies was suffused with the energy of an eternity, cleansing and empowering them from the inside out.
Gabriel stepped back. The force of the emergence was a living, breathing thing that demanded space. Within the opaque globe, Gabe could see Sara and Ian as if through a fog, a force field had encased them. They looked upon one another as if they were speaking, yet no words came forth. Their faces were glowing in their love. The physical devastation that they had shared over the last several days was gone, replacing their images with an idealized version of themselves.
Suddenly, a fiery red orb emerged from the Gauntlet, projecting its crimson lasers of light to the edges of the sphere as if it were trying to force its way out. Pain and ecstasy now coursed through their bodies as if they were one and the same. Ian and Sara held each other fast, grimacing and shuddering with the power of the two weapons at odds with one another. The scarlet tendrils of light punched and fought for freedom, yet the shield of Excaliber held steadfastly. As the battle raged, the blade and the ring began to form a synergetic alliance, bursting forth in rhythm. The cadence of the Witchblade's light pulsed more slowly, as if it had suddenly acquiesced to the will of the ring.
Finally, the symbiotic weapon granted Sara her miracle…a second chance. The blade swirled alive on her wrist, once more connecting to its wielder at a cellular level. The amalgamation was like a peaceful joining of an old friend.
As the gentle radiance from Excaliber subsided, Ian collapsed into Sara's arms in his exhaustion, gasping for breath. Sara was in no better shape. Trembling, they held each other firmly until the weakness had subsided. With eyes closed, they listened for the steady beating of their hearts, as a sign of hope that they indeed might have a future together.
Gabriel, sensing it was safe to approach them, rushed to their side with opened arms, kneeling at Sara's feet alongside Nottingham.
"I can't believe it! What a light show! Are you both all right?" He exclaimed in his joy, hugging them both.
Nottingham and Sara were as fragile as newborns, finding it hard to catch their breaths. They had been consumed by the combined phenomenon of Excaliber and the Witchblade. With depleted embraces and wavering smiles, they returned the love to Gabriel by enfolding him in their circle, knowing they had narrowly skirted death.
"Remind me to invite you guys over for the fourth of July." Despite not wanting to encourage Gabriel with his warped sense of humor, Sara and Nottingham laughed aloud…and it felt good.
It was good to be alive…and together.
*****
Once more, Kenneth Irons had spent an evening alone, dining by himself with only the whimpering sounds of the wolfhounds and the sound of his own cutlery on china plates. He resisted idle conversation with the servants, preferring to envelop himself in silence rather than filling it with the mundane.
He had selected a book of poetry from his library and sat near the fire in the Great Room, as was his custom during the evening, but he could not recall the author. It seemed hard to concentrate, for in the back of his mind, a dark forbidding thing seemed to have been unleashed. He avoided the confrontation by the many distractions he had chosen to fill his time. By midnight, however, he had readied himself for bed, still unable to shut down his mind enough to rest.
Lying awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, Irons watched the play of moonlight as it danced across the expanse of his room, assisted by the bowers of trees nearest his bedroom windows. Certain shadows were playing devious tricks on him, forcing recollections he might otherwise prefer to dismiss all together.
Irons' mind had been plagued with the demons that cohabited the dark recesses of his memory. It seemed life could be interminable when besieged by the devil himself. Like Faust, Irons had made a pact to acquire the power of the Witchblade, sacrificing the love of his life, Elizabeth Bronte, in the bargain. She was haunting him tonight, her face forever frozen in death.
He supposed it was befitting since Elizabeth had been the previous wielder before Sara Pezzini…if Sara could be presumed to be a true wielder. As his thoughts turned to Sara, the circular scars on the back of his hand started a slow burn. His eyes darted about the room. The connection to the wielder had been severed during Sara's recent abandonment.
Why could he feel this sensation again? No…it could not be!
Shooting pain coursed up his arm, ravaging his body with the shock of linking to Sara once more. Convulsing and writhing in bed, his pale, blue eyes rolled into his head. Images of an intense and pulsating light blinded him. The luminescence was not like any other he had experienced. The energy was overpowering, crushing the breath from his chest as he fought to be free of it.
She was not alone! How could this be?
It felt as if the lives of every warrior that had come before Sara were enfolding her in their embrace, shielding her from harm. The ancient voices that had tormented Sara were now echoing about his room in the darkness, taunting him. Besieging him from all corners of the room, he flailed his arms against the demons only he could see.
"Nooooo! Noooooooo!" His pitiable shrieks resounded throughout the estate.
*****
Still clad in silken, black pajamas with red piping and matching robe, Kenneth Irons was doing his best to force down his breakfast of toast, hot tea, and a half grapefruit. His eyes were drawn and tired, not having slept all night. The servants avoided the dining room as much as possible, having heard his screams most of the night. They had learned long ago not to interfere with the masters' life unless they had been specifically called upon to obey his orders. Compassion was nonexistent and not encouraged at the Estate.
In an effort to distract himself from his terror of last night, he was beginning to wonder what had befallen Randall Briggs. Perhaps this was more of a rhetorical question since Irons suspected Ian knew precisely what had happened to the impulsive young man who had seemed so sure he would be successful in finding the missing 'bracelet'. Incompetence was ruling the day of late. This would have to change, he thought.
Several newspapers and his morning mail had been placed on a console table in the dining room. Not able to eat any more, he casually distracted himself with the morning mail as he sipped his morning tea, a special blend he had discovered while he had last visited India. The Vorschlag Cable Network was droning mindlessly in the background. The news broadcast was barely audible, yet something drew his attention to the story nonetheless. He set his china cup down into its saucer and reached for the remote control, turning up the volume. The backdrop was down by the waterfront.
"…Police will have difficulty identifying the body…hands and head have been severed…No identification found." The blond reporter was finding it difficult to maintain her professional composure.
He lowered the sound once again. A body in the harbor was not particularly noteworthy yet it registered with him all the same. Drawing his attention once again to his morning mail, he sorted through the stack, tossing aside some for later review. One envelope caught his eye. The handwriting looked familiar. It was personally addressed to him, but had been overnighted. The package was marked with the appropriate approval stamps signifying it had been examined by his security personnel. As he opened the envelope, a plastic badge fell onto his desk, along with a note.
The badge was covered in dried blood. The smiling face of Randall Briggs was staring up at him on the photo identification of the young man on a better day. He slowly unfolded the note.
Father---Consider this a Vorschlag severance package, of sorts.
I hope this was not your idea of a replacement for me.
Ian
Clutching the note in his hand, he crumpled it in his rage. His face reddened, as he had to remind himself to breathe. The act had left him speechless. He did not believe in coincidences. The body fished out of the harbor must be Briggs, the incompetent bastard! Irons thought. Nottingham was proving to be more formidable than he had originally thought. He had obviously trained him too well. This had been an asset while the lad had been under his roof.
Now…it was a deadly mistake.
Replaying the images and the news story in his mind, he recalled the head and hands were missing from the body. This would make it difficult, if not impossible, for the authorities to identify the body. At least the police would not be camping out on his doorstep for now.
This thought made him pause.
Even as Ian was taunting him with this morning delivery, he had gone to considerable lengths to keep this from his door. Interesting! Nottingham had won this round but was most assuredly displaying a certain loyalty to his former master…perhaps to his detriment, one day.
From the events of last night, he had suspected that Nottingham had been successful in retrieving the blade for his beloved wielder...and that the Gauntlet must have accepted Sara once more. Sara and her newfound champion had bested him but he had a surprise awaiting them.
There was one call he needed to make. No time like the present.