Concentric Circles (14 page)

Shayla studied the many drawers and doors built into the wall on either side. A chill traveled through her. “Kal?”

He motioned to the wall beneath a small leaded window. “Yeah, this is where two monks stayed. Their cots were there. The cupboards are a later addition.”

The window let in a sliver of distorted moonlight, casting them in silver.

“Spooky.”

“Aye. Come this way,” Meekal whispered, wrapping his fingers protectively around hers.

Next, they stepped out into the upper hall. Plush carpet padded their footsteps as Shayla followed Meekal past portraits, artifacts and live plants adorning the upper hall.

He led her to a narrow stairwell at the far end. The first surprise Shayla received was that the stairwell was an optical illusion. Three pie-shaped steps turned to the right only to end in a black wall carved with a door. Close inspection revealed the illusion of his bedroom entrance.

“Surprise.”

“How?”

“This way,” Meekal said, mischievously. He moved his hand forward to the shelves that graced the end of the hall next to the fake stairs. The oak shelf before Shayla boasted several figurines: a unicorn, a wooden box carved with runes and a Crusader helmet. The helmet was fascinating. It was made of steel with narrow eye slits on the crossbar of the symbolic cross of the Crusades.
Fleur-de-lis
terminals embellished the sacred symbol. Meekal’s finger glazed over the brass cross, following its shape. “Pernicious.”

Shayla’s brows rose sharply.

“No one will ever guess that’s my keyword,” he said, while he readjusted the helmet’s position on the shelf. “Even Harry doesn’t know it. Follow me.”

Shayla stepped through the doorway that had opened when Meekal spoke. “Why doesn’t Harry know? I thought he is your best friend.”

“His twisted sense of protecting me. We hang out elsewhere when we’re together. Stubborn prat. Anyway he prefers the Tor or Harry’s Pub when we take time to socialize.” The book shelves swung closed behind them, latching with a soft click.

“Pernicious was the Raven Prince. He was Fyr’s da and the person who sent Black Bry to Glastonbury. You’ll learn the history later. Perhaps Fyr will tell you.”

“Okay,” Shayla said, dragging the word out as she focused on the thickly carpeted narrow stairs wending upward. They stepped into Meekal’s room. His upper floor bedroom spanned the full size of the manor. The steps carried them up to the middle of the chamber.  

The bed dominated the right side, its presence powerfully bold due to four posts rising almost to the pitched ceiling. The ceiling, marked with both heavy wood beams and modern skylights, crowned with everything with perfection. “Wow.”

“That’s why I like it up here,” he replied, voice filled with humor and pride. “I have a full view of the gardens below and the summer sky above. I’ve never been able to decide which I like best, the stars on a clear night or snow falling from the heavens.”

Shayla reached for the intricately carved bedpost. The ancient oak, hand carved with leaves and grapevines, hinted at a story. Heavy ripe fruit looked so real they tempted one to pluck them. “Kal, why grapes?”

“You don’t know? Grapes are connected with the vine mentioned in the Bible. You know, the blood of Christ? The bed has been in the family for generations. Mum wanted more modern pieces so she gave this one to me.”

At the opposite end of the room, a desk and low book shelves stood before a wide window overlooking the garden. She walked around a half wall where a flat screen TV hung, past Meekal’s workout area to a portrait positioned on the right-hand side over the desk. Ignoring the books scattered on the desk and surrounding shelves, Shayla studied the portrait closely. “Kal, is this it?”

“Aye. See the stone archway in the background?”

“Yes.” The portrait was currently empty of people. It depicted a warm summer day. She squinted, positive she could see the breeze teasing the leaves on the trees. The background was of an English hill where a ruin stood in blazing defiance of the apparent destruction of the rest of the structure.

Meekal leaned in close. “Focus,” he breathed into her ear.

Eyes glued to the archway and the sky through it, Shayla whispered, “Travel into a portrait. So cool.”

A soft breeze transported them.

“Anything’s possible with magic.”

Shayla gasped. Turning quickly, she gazed into Meekal’s room from the inside of the portrait. Her palm rested on the cool stones giving her evidence of the truth of their journey.

“Good evening to ye.”

Shayla’s head followed the voice behind her. With hands and knees shaking, she whispered through her shock, “Hello.”

Meekal grasped her elbow, leading her to a short rock wall on the interior side of the ruin. “Here, Shay. Sit.”

“Morna told me. I dinna believe.”

Shayla swallowed her own disbelief and looked up into a near perfect mirror image.

“Shay,” Meekal said gently, “this is Keira. Keira, this is Shayla.” Meekal looked from one to the other. “Well, there is a slight difference in your hair color and…”

Shayla glared at him. “Kal.”

Meekal chuckled, his shoulders shaking.

Keira smiled and laughed. The sound was musical within the confines of the broken ruins around them.

“Where are we?” Shayla stood and looked around, no longer shaking.

“This was Wiston Castle.”

“How am I supposed to get the bezoar stone from here?”

“It isna here right now,” Keira said, with a smile. “Bry will come if need be.”

“That’s right, Shay,” Meekal said. “Want a tour?” 

She looked up at the wave of the broken wall. The stones of a lone archway had the look of timelessness. The intricate masonry work drew her attention. “How old is this castle? There isn’t much of it left.”

Keira motioned Shayla to follow. “The original keep of the motte and bailey was built by Gwys. Some knew him by his Latin name, Wizo. He died in eleven hundred thirty. It was taken in battle several times by different warriors and has a history of falling to treachery.”

“Shayla likes history.” Meekal said and continued for Keira. “Wiston is considered one of the best surviving motte and bailey castles. There are only five others that boast a stone keep on their summits.”

“Pfft. I love history. Get it right, love,” she said, jesting. She stopped at the top of a line of stairs built into the earthen hillside. For some reason, the stones brought to mind the thought of journeys into the unknown. She paused at the top and turned to look at the exterior of the keep.

The wall was several feet thick, broken away in some areas indicating both bombardment and the erosion of time. Shayla inhaled deeply and lifted her hand tentatively to touch the grey stones. A harsh, piercing scream penetrated her pores. She shivered, pulling her hand back in surprise.

“Shay?”

Shaking the feeling off, she turned to face the vista stretching northward. The English countryside around them rolled downward in a steep hill. The high ground of the structure was considered the motte. Below, the earth leveled until it reached an old stone wall with a split wood gate.

A rambling manor sat against the hillside. The roof was slate grey. It rested, nestled by the green rise of the outer bailey, sheltered by tall trees.

Keira’s voice cut through her thoughts.  “That’s the medieval house built much later.”

Meekal hissed, a frown crossing his face, he tugged on Shayla’s hand. “We need to get back. Something’s wrong.” Turning to Keira, he said, “Sorry, to cut this visit short. See you later.”

Keira only had time to give Shayla a soft smile and a nod.

“How can you tell there’s something wrong?”

“The portrait. There’s a ley line running right through it.”

Shayla and Meekal landed in Meekal’s bedchamber to the sound of bells tolling.

“What’s that?”

Meekal tilted his ear toward the window. “Church bells.” Shaking his head, Meekal guided her toward the stairs and down.

The bells tolled without stop, timed to perfection and tone.

“Damn.”

“Kal?”

“Hurry,” he urged, leading her through the bookcase into the upper hall where they met Joseph Chilkwell.

He handed them each a vest. “Good. You’re back. Here.”

Shayla stared at hers.

“Armor. Put it on. It will protect you from some spells and bullets.”

“Bullets?”

“Just in case.”

“But,” she said, trying to shift disbelief away.

“It’s a Death Knell,” Meekal said, thrusting his arm into the vest. “Somebody has died. It’s probably Syther letting us know.”

Her heart flipped. Breathing erratically, she pulled the vest on and followed them down the stairs to meet Chaeli and Harry in the foyer.

Harry greeted them with only a slight nod and turned to Joseph. “They’re at St. Dunstan’s Chapel. Mum called James. They’re on their way.”

“Shayla, have C
IARAN
L
EXISS
ready.” Joseph stilled and waited for her to retrieve him from her boot.

Coming up after reaching down for her
sgian dhu
, Shayla met Meekal’s eyes, and bit nervously on her lower lip.

“
A
H, THE ANTICIPATION OF BATTLE
.” C
IARAN
sounded excited.

Shayla tried to act nonchalant and ignored C
IARAN
L
EXISS
by refusing to respond verbally. Instead, she clutched him tightly.

A spiral of air carried them to the chapel.

They landed behind St. Dunstan’s Chapel in the midst of flickering torch light and fearful crying. Their appearance brought about a scream, cut off suddenly.

Shayla noticed that Joseph’s face was in shadow, even as his eyes glinted with ruthlessness.

“Is nothing sacred to you, Syther?” Joseph, a dirk in his hand at the ready, faced the evil Thyrza.

Syther snorted, pointing a new wand. “The only thing sacred to me is the knowledge that you’d come running, Chilkwell.” Syther looked around. “Where’s the whelp?”

Meekal was nowhere to be seen within the chapel grounds.

Heart pounding, Shayla gasped, spinning to look for him.

No Meekal.

Gail, on her knees, held captive between two Thyrza, cried as she stared wide-eyed at them. Her fear filled eyes locked with Shayla’s, and then rolled back in her head. She fainted.

Someone lay prone on the ground in front of Gail. Recognition slammed Shayla into reality. A sob wrenched its way to her mouth and out, colliding with the morbid sound of bells.

It was Mrs. Graham, bloodied from her cut throat. The coppery scent of death assailed Shayla’s senses.

Then through the sound of tolling bells, Shayla heard chanting.

Corby Zubird, on his knees, chanted, “Come forth, Lord of Darkness. Return and conquer. Come forth.”

Meekal materialized behind Zubird, pulled his head back, and clamped a hand over his mouth.

Zubird reached up and pulled on Meekal’s intruding hand. They rolled on the ground. Single minded, Zubird continued to speak his black words of power, even as Meekal pressed against his throat. Garbled sounds filled the air around them.

Shayla knew it was the intent behind the words that counted.

A dagger appeared in Zubird’s hand. With a croaking laugh, he jabbed.

Grunts ensued. Arms and legs tangled in combat.

Fearful of the outcome, Shayla rushed across the gap separating her from Meekal. Each step forward made the gulf between them greater. She knew magic had a hand in her failed attempt. A roar of anger burst forth and she turned her wrath on the closest Thyrza while keeping one eye on the unfolding scene, tormented by its potential outcome. “Wicked bastard,” she yelled and spun C
IARAN
L
EXISS
.

The Thyrza twisted in the air and landed upon the ground trussed up like a pig over a flaming fire. His wand pasted to his forehead, snapped over a crooked nose, and down to a pointy chin. The man glared at her, cross-eyed.

Shayla turned, heart racing and moved forward without any magical deterrent this time.

Combatants in the battle between good and evil still rolled on the ground, bloodied and breathing heavily.

She raised her
sgian dhu
, but hesitated. “C
IARAN
, help.”

“‘
T
IS TOO CLOSE. WAIT
.”

Trepidation stole her breath while her beat thunderously.

Meekal came out on top, straddling Zubird and holding the dagger away from his body. In the vortex of magic, black mist wrapped them, growing thicker and obscuring their conflict.

Purple stars materialized from Meekal and began consuming the dark mist.

In that instant, a magnetic power surge told Shayla everything she really needed to know about her love for Meekal.

“Dark Lord—”

“Damned murdering bugger!”

The veil of magic didn’t obscure sound.

Snap!

Shayla froze, unable to see clearly.

Zubird stilled. The chanting mage silenced forever. The evil Thyrza was sprawled on the dew dampened grass in death’s twisted posture.

“Meekal!”

Cobalt blue eyes met hers as he stood.

Bang! Bang!

The bullets impacted his vest and knocked him to the ground. He landed on top of Zubird.

“No!” Shayla rushed to his side. A bubble of silence surrounded her, blocking out the continued battle noises. Down she went on her knees.

Meekal groaned, and then rolled back up on his knees with a highlander’s roar. With a fierce thrust upward with his left hand, the shooter flew into the air and hovered amidst the smoky air. The deadly gun wedged in a tree branch out of reach.

Magical curses flew through the sacred air. The Death Knell continued.

She wanted to hold him. One glance told her he understood.
I love you
, she thought with power growing from the heart.

Me, too, his expression replied.

The combined chaotic action of everything around them blurred. A Thyrza attacked her, sending an unknown curse. Reflexive motion came to the forefront, guiding her movements. Shayla swung C
IARAN
L
EXISS
, deflecting the spell’s energy with the blade. Then, she used her fist and feet. Leaping at him, she planted her boots in his gut.