That Spirit Here

Jamie puffs out his cheeks, exhaling slowly, "No' much, really. Mostly about how loyal ye were, playin' yer word games with Thomas and Randall, an' how brave he was for swoopin' in an' getting' ye out. An' that ye'd boaked on Jack."

I snort a little, "Typical. But maybe he was shielding you. Much as I don't want to give Dougal that much credit, it is just possible."

"What do ye mean, Sorcha?"

. . . He asked for it, you know. . .

I shake my head, "No. . . uhm. . . I'm getting ahead of myself."

. . . Every sweet, screaming stripe of it. . .

I take a long, shaky breath, and banish the whispering memories for just a little while longer.

"Iona is a time traveler too."

"Really?" he purses his lips and considers, "Somehow that isnae a surprise. Is that why there's sae many weird stories about her? An' why she seemingly didnae exist there for a bit?"

"Yes."

He kisses my forehead, and tucks the blanket a little closer around us, "Alright. But what does that havetae do wi' us?"

"Well, remember when you left us alone? She dropped the pretense then, and we talked all about the. . . consequences of time travel. What it means when you go through the stones. Apparently it. . . focuses some sort of power or another on you. She called it a Gift."

He looks up sharply at my fully pronounced capital, "Alright. . ."

I describe her Gift – or at least what little of it she showed me with that small incident with the taxidermied alligator.

"So. . . she c'n change things? Little things? An' make them allus ha' been that way?"

"For anyone who didn't directly see the change, yes, I think so. And I don't think she can change anything big, because Geillis said-"

"Geillis?" he interrupts, "What does Geillis havetae do wi' this, now?"

"Oh. . . uhm. . . she's a time traveler too. . ."

He bursts out laughing, "Saints preserve us, Sorcha! Four years in exile, only tae find out Cranesmuir an' Leoch are home tae the Three Weird Sisters!"

I smile with him, but don't laugh, "Well, Dougal isn't exactly MacBeth, of course, but you certainly have something there. . ."

He stops, sobering instantly, "Are ye. . . are ye serious, Sassenach?"

"A politically ambitious Scottish soldier who covets his brother's influence and power? And is willing to cheat, lie, manipulate and murder to get what he wants? And is emotionally and physically involved with a woman just as conniving and manipulative as he is?" I shrug, "The story itself may be totally different, but the driving spirit? Looks almost the same to me."

Jamie leans his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling for a minute.

"The driving spirit," he says, almost dreamily.

"Yes."

"I think it might be ye who has something there, Sorcha. . ."

"Well, be that as is may, Geillis said lots of things that day I had tea with her in town, and one of them has stuck with me, and it's this - You can change all sorts of things about the past, without actually changing what happens."

"Meanin' like if ye went back in time an' changed how many children Queen Victoria the First had, or how long her Prince Albert had lived, it wouldnae change much about World War I? Or that World War I would happen?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"So, again, what does tha' mean for us?"

"Well. . . apparently, in this case. . . Iona said our being soulmates means that whatever Gift I would have had. . . was given to you."

He stares at me, "But. . ."

"And in thinking about it, I've come to the conclusion that since we're soulmates, whatever Gift you would have had was given to me, and-"

He grips my wrist, "Wait, Sorcha, back up – this Gift, or power, or whatever, what is it?"

"Iona said it was different for everyone who goes through the stones."

"But I havenae gone through the stones, Sorcha. An' I'm no' about tae try."

I sigh, "Jamie, who knows how far back into history all this goes? It might have started thousands of years ago, for reasons we couldn't possibly understand today. You very well might have gone through the stones. . . when you weren't you yet."

He blinks, slowly, "But. . . if ye'er the Dunbonnet, an' I'm the English Ladye. . ."

I shake my head, "It's nowhere near that simple, Jamie. I mean, think about it, if they were also soulmates, it can't just be a. . . a. . . spiritual-body-swap, or whatever, because their soul-mating must have happened already too. So the re-manifestation part isn't what merges souls. It can't be. Remember, Iona said it had to be a choice. And no one chooses to be born."

I pause for a long heartbeat.

"No one Human, that is."

He leans his head on his palm, "Where are ye leadin' me, lass?"

I barely know myself, but I still forge ahead.

Iona said we'd understand when the time was right.

And Fiona, Lamb, and Geillis had all mentioned an Oldmother.

Geillis said Mrs. Graham was one, Lamb said I needed to find one. . . and Fiona seemed to think I was one. . .

All the answers must be within our reach. They must be.

"The Pale Lady, and the Ghillie Dhu. . . they've always been, you said?"

"Aye. In Fairyland, they've allus been."

"But, in that story you told, they both left Fairyland. And you told me you thought I had wandered so far as to forget who I was."

"Aye. I did think that. . ."

"So. . . essentially. . . they chose to be Human. And they chose each other at the same time. Taking up each other's burdens. Living each other's lives. Becoming one spirit."

"I give ye my body. . ." he whispers.

"That we two may be one."

"An' I give ye my spirit. . ."

"'Til our life shall be done."

He shakes his head, hard, "But we cannae be them, Sassenach. That's no' how the Fae Folk work!"

"No, but what if they are our "driving spirits"? What if that's what being an Old One looks like in this time and place? What if that's why the connection between us feels so ancient and elemental and perfect and. . . immortal? What if that's how soulmates are made?"

He stares at me for a long second, then gathers me to him, and kisses me, in the same gently astonished way he did that very first morning at Leoch, only with a deeper and richer sweetness, coming from all our experiences, and all our love.

And from all the force of the untold centuries or millennia that neither of us can remember. . .

It is an absurd thing to think, but I can't help wondering if I ever knew what it was to feel alive before I met this man. . .

He releases me just enough to let me breathe, "Tell me ye love me, Claire."

I smile against his mouth, "I love you, Jamie."

"Mmm. Again."

"I love you."

"Once more."

"I love you. Forever. To the end of days."

He huffs a laugh, "And here I thought I was just bein' romantic when I said that on our wedding night. . ."

"Oh, it was romantic all right. Never fear on that score."

"Seems ye were right tae insist on infinity. . ."

"And I still do, Jamie. I still do."

I kiss him some more, with all the soft, slow, lazy passion I wish we could indulge in right now. . .

I pull back, and sigh. We have to reach a conclusion on all this, or it will just sit between us forever. That would be worse than it being my secret. . .

There's work to be done.

"Iona was surprised when she read our auras, remember?"

He sighs too, and rests his fingers lightly on my lips for a moment, "Promise me something, Sassenach?"

"Anything."

"When we get back tae Leoch, ye'll give me a week."

"A week?"

"Aye. We'll spend time wi' Fergus, an' do things in each other's workshops, an' play chess, an' sleep taegether – just sleep - an' talk, an' laugh, an' be. . . with nae drama. For one week. As far as in ye lies, promise ye'll give me that. Please, Sassenach."

"You want me to promise you that?" I laugh, "I want you to promise me that!"

"Aye, let's both promise, then."

We do, and seal it with a kiss neither of us wants to break.

"Alright then," Jamie says, finally sitting back, "What about Iona and her wee magiks?"

"Do you remember the colours she talked about? For each of us?"

"Aye, some. I remember yer soul is ultramarine but I've got that colour in my aura, and my soul is orange, but ye've got that in yer aura. By which I assume she knew we were soulmates."

"Oh," I say, then stop, brought up a little short, "Funny. I hadn't actually noticed that bit."

"Weel what bits did ye notice then?"

"When I have my. . . visions, or. . . Sight episodes, or whatever they are – there seem to be themes. Certain colours, certain shapes, certain things that happen."

"Aye, seems that would naturally be so."

"Well. . ." I pause and blush. I don't know how to broach this. . .

You're being foolish, Beauchamp! The man has put various parts of himself inside you, in a wide variety of different ways, and you love him for doing so. You don't need to be squeamish about this, of all things. . .

But, somehow, this is even more intimate than sex.

If it was anyone else but Jamie. . .

But that's the point, Beauchamp! It is him! Now put on your big-girl pants and communicate!

"Uhm. . . yesterday morning? When you. . . touched me. . ."

He gives a tiny, gloating smirk, "Aye?"

"Did you. . . feel anything in particular? See anything?"

His eyes go soft, and his voice deepens, "Aye. T'was like ye turned tae living flames in my arms. I wanted tae throw myself inta ye an' be consumed. But I was too angry then tae properly enj-"

"What colour were the flames, Jamie?"

"What? Oh, blue, bu'-"

"I nearly always see blue flames in my visions, Jamie."

He blinks.

"Oh."

"I saw them too, while you were. . . tending to me. . . and it was you touching me like that which let me finally get some proper rest, and wake up feeling better. It wasn't consuming fire at all."

". . . . . . oh."

"And I think these visions and insights. . . my memory for faces and names. . . my ability to know things – and have the power to do things when I have to – when I'm challenged, when my blood is up, when I get angry, when I see red. . . I think that's my Gift, Jamie. I nearly always see something red in these dreams too. Iona said soulmates meeting was rare – I think it's reasonable to assume we're one of only very few she's met, if not the first. And so, I think it's also reasonable to assume she doesn't necessarily know everything about them. I think we both have a Gift. When I see red, that's when mine shows up. I think. But. . . what about yours?"

He is staring at the pale gray sky beyond the square panes of our windows.

"Mo Dhia," he breathes, "An' I thought I was seein' things."

"When?"

"Lots of times. When I put yer shoulder back in joint. When I taped up Fergus's ribs in Carter's back rooms. When I first showed ye Donas an' fed him by hand. When I gave Colum a massage that day ye worked on his prosthetic. An'. . ." he rests his left hand lightly on his right shoulder, "An' when I put my bruise ointment on that wee mark ye left on me. An' a dozen other times too. Two dozen. More, mebbe."

"What did you see?"

"Almost nowt. Nothin' tae speak of. . . a flash, here an' there. A. . . spark. A. . . gleam. A reflection brighter than mebbe it ought tae be. An afterimage a little stronger than natural," he exhales, slowly, "But always some shade of blue. . ."

I nod in confirmation, "And it didn't start until I got here?"

"Noo, it. . ." he twists his eyes shut, thinking hard, "I think it started. . . in the horse trailer. That furst night. Certainly the next mornin', when I tended to yer ankle. . ."

"And it's stronger when I'm near by you?"

"Oh, aye. That definitely."

"And whenever you see it. . . things heal. If not right away, then faster than normal. My shoulder, Donas's anxiety, Fergus's ribs, your bruise. My. . . depression. . . yesterday morning."

His expression goes very grim, "But not for Willie. Why, Sassenach?" his pained eyes meet mine, "Why didn't I see blue fire for him?"

"I. . . I don't know. . ."

He jumps up off the couch, and goes over to the Fraser jewel case, and pulls out a small green jasper pin. There is a lighter on one shelf, next to three candles, and he grabs it to sterilize the point.

I hold my hand out for the pin when he comes to sit back down.

"Sassenach, ye. . ."

I look sternly up at him, "You're going to test this out, yes?"

"Aye."

"Well, if it doesn't work, you'll have a mark on your skin. Let me do it instead."

He half grins, a fond reproach in his eyes, "Sorcha-"

"Besides, if it's my injury – however small – I might be able to have a vision. Test both our Gifts at once."

He hesitates a few more seconds, then wordlessly hands me the little jeweled pin.

I lightly tap the point on the back of my arm until I find a spot where I can barely feel it. Jamie settles himself very close to me, one hand cradling my elbow, and the other hovering close to where I am holding the pin.

"Are you ready?" I ask, looking into his eyes.

After a moment, he nods, "Aye."

I hold his gaze, "Blood of my blood."

"An' bone of my bone."

I give myself a quick, shallow jab. A bead of blood comes up, and a tiny little ache of pain. It isn't much at all, but I still focus on it, trying to fall into it, trying to chase it into oblivion, trying to find that seductive, beckoning edge that will take me into my dark pl-

ace. . .

The room in the manse is dark. The only light is the sickly aqua-green of the radioactive algae that coats the walls. The handwashing basin from the corner is now on the couch between us. A small brown bird lands in the water, and begins to wash itself. Water droplets fly, and sparkle like jewels. Some splashes on the walls, and they turn into tiny white pearls. They roll away into the dar-

k. . .

I blink, and the vision fades.

I look down at my arm, where Jamie's hand is covering the spot where I jabbed myself. He slowly takes his hand away. There is still a small smear of dried blood, but there is no puncture point. There's no bruising or discolouration either – there are no marks at all. There isn't even a scab. If it wasn't for the blood, there would be no evidence that anything at all had happened.

We look at each other, almost too scared to speak.

"Did you see what I saw?" I ask, very quietly.

Jamie nods.

"I'm going to do it again."

He resets himself, focusing on my arm, then nods again.

I stick myself with the pin. This time, I do not focus on the pain, instead trying to unfocus myself, and follow it down deliberately, into the barren, empty w-

aste. . .

The Manager's Barn at night. A low, pale blue light comes from the greenhouse, but everything else is dark. I carry a beaker of water to a tray of newly spouted plants, and pour it in. The tray overflows. As the water streams off the edge of the table, the drops become a string of freshwater pearls. Jamie's hand catches th-

em. . .

I blink, and look at my arm again. There are two smears of blood now, but still no puncture wounds.

Jamie takes the pin from me, and tosses it aside.

"Try once more, Sorcha. Try an' get there without pain, an' I'll try tae follow without needin' tae fix things as I go. Let's see what difference it makes."

"Alright. Don't try to be in the vision this time – try to stand outside it. I will too."

He almost asks why, but instead takes my left hand in his right, laces our fingers together, and holds tight.

"Blood of my blood."

"And bone of my bone."

I close my eyes, and slowly, one by one, turn off every insistent noise inside my brain. Every memory, every question, every present want and need, until I am left alone, in silence.

And silence is a great revealer. . .

I spread myself thin, but not like a cloud, instead solid and clear, like a film of ice over a pond, with life and vibrancy all the way to the cold, clean

depths. . .

There is a nest in the long grasses by the shores of Loch Ness. A pair of Greylag geese circle in the bright, crystal blue of an early Spring morning. The wind rustles 'round, stirring the air into a million scents and sensations. The geese land in their nest, coiling a long string of pearls all 'round them. A downy feather gets caught up in the wind and blows out away Westward, across the

loch. . .

The first thing I see this time, are Jamie's eyes looking into mine.

"Weel, that was something else, aye?"

"Yes."

I wince, and notice that my hand is aching. We're still holding each other's hands - much too tightly. . .

Slowly, we disengage our locked fingers, and massage some feeling back into them.

"So, did you gain any insight about Willie, or. . . anything?"

His lip twists a bit, "Aye, I think so. The first two times I was tryin' tae heal ye, an' water became pearls. The third time, I was jus' tryin' tae see, an' the water an' pearls were jus' there. An' what I felt each time. . ." he shakes his head, "Dinnae ken if I c'n describe it."

I laugh a little, "Welcome to a big chunk of my last three months!"

His eyebrows twitch, with humour and in sympathy, "Aye. I suppose ye could say I felt like I was. . . reaching. Reaching through somethin'. Somethin'. . . transformative. But invisible."

"You mean. . . Time?"

He blinks in mild surprise, "Aye. Tha's it, exactly. Reachin' through time. It was almost like I wasnae actually healin' anything at all. Jus' reachin' forward in time an' bringin' back the thing, healed as it would be naturally. An' the third time. . . there wasnae any reason to reach. So nothin' turned inta anything else."

"And so. . . with Willie. . ."

He shakes his head sadly, "He wasnae going tae heal. So I couldnae reach forward and bring him back better."

"Death leaves His mark?"

He sighs, and nods briefly.

"Why did ye want us tae try an' stand outside the vision, Sorcha?"

"I thought it might make the projected imagery a little clearer. Cleaner. Without our personalities influencing things."

"D'ye think it did?"

"Yes, I do. What's a Greylag goose? And why do I know what they're called when I've never seen them before, and don't know anything about them?"

"The birds in that last vision? All I c'n think is ye picked up on what I thought when I saw them," he shrugs, "Common sort of creatures, they are. They mate for life, but there's nowt else interesting about them. Other than they make good eating, a'course."

"Oh, of course," I roll my eyes, "God forbid an existential prophetic vision shows you anything unappetizing."

Both of our stomachs growl at this point, and we dissolve into laughter.

Jamie jumps up, takes off his bathrobe, and starts getting dressed, "I'll jus' go down tae the kitchens an' get our tea, shall I? After yesterday, I dinnae want tae subject the landlady tae any more of us than she absolutely must see."

I chortle, half highly amused, half painfully embarrassed, "She did deliver tea at exactly the wrong moment yesterday, didn't she?"

"Aye. Puir woman."

"Poor woman?" I scoff, "She's to be envied, Jamie. She did get to see you in rather less than your Sunday best, after all. I know lots of women would pay for that sort of thing."

I laugh triumphantly at his rosy cheeks and crimson ears.

He gets back with our tea in record time.

"No' that any of this hasnae been fun, an' all. . ." he says, laying out our meal, "But what all does it havetae do wi' ye an' Jack, Sorcha?"

I shiver, "I'll tell you, Jamie. But not while we're eating."

"Too right. Sorrae." He smiles ruefully into his barley soup.

I manage to hold back the whispers until after we're done with tea. I take Jamie back to the couch, and snuggle up, close and warm. I give a long, long sigh, and try to get in any way ready to remember that room with Jack.

If I survived the man himself, I can survive the memories of our encounter, surely. . .

He's not here now. He can't hurt me. . .

Of course, that's not how this works, and you know it, Beauchamp. . .

. . . it was like he wanted the pain. . .

I clutch Jamie tight, and begin.

"Jack got me alone. And the first thing he asked was about Frank."

"Frank?"

"Yes, that was all I said to him the first day. I'd called out "Frank?" in a very surprised and bewildered way."

"Justifiably so, if they look sae similar."

"Quite. But I was thinking of Frank right then too, for the same reason, and his question rattled me for a minute."

"Understandable."

. . . You, are a beautiful liar. . .

I shiver.

"Well, we started in on a verbal duel, and I realized I. . . might be out of my league."

"Ye? Out of your league?"

I nod.

His eyes harden, "If it were anyone else but Jack, I couldnae imagine it."

. . . Have you ever imagined it?. . .

I shiver again, and fight back the fear and disgust.

"Then he. . . seemed to know the dueling swords weren't working. So he. . . pulled out the battle axes. He. . . bragged to me about your back. He. . . he got excited by it."

I see Jamie's gall rise too, "Ye mean. . ."

"Yes. And he was using Frank's face. Frank's voice. His mannerisms. . ." I bury my face in Jamie's shirt for a minute, centering myself, "I was so. . . sickened I couldn't keep up the verbal duel with him."

He runs a soothing hand across my back, "D'ye think that's why he did it?"

"No. And I don't think it was because he's genuinely proud of himself either – even though he was. Is. No, he did it because I would be sickened by it. Full stop. That's what he wanted from me."

"Ye. . . ye'er leading me somewhere again, lass. Where is it?"

. . . Have you ever imagined complete. . . harmony?. . .

"He. . . started telling me stories of his. . . exploits. And I was so creeped out and horrified I. . . managed to slip into a vision state."

"Jus' like ye did here wi' me?"

I give a very flat laugh, "Hah! No, Jamie, not like today. Almost entirely as a defense mechanism then, I'm certain of it. But the results were. . . somewhat similar."

. . . Fraser was the first perfect subject I ever had. . .

"I. . . saw into him, Jamie. I read his soul. I. . . kenned him. And he wasn't Human. He looks it – but he isn't. He's. . . empty. Nothing but a. . . manifestation. A projection. Of a being of undiluted darkness. Of irredeemable evil."

"Claire," Jamie breathes, "Where have ye led me?"

I stare at him, wide eyed, "I. . . don't know, exactly - I just got here myself. I've thought most of these things before, but never so clearly."

Jamie rubs his eyes, and starts breathing like he's been running, "D'ye really mean tae say that. . . that. . . Black Jack. . . Black Jack, is an Auld One too?"