The Black Knight Leads

     

       It took them a better part of an hour to come to some type of decision as to to whom they would tell, and what they'd reveal.  As far as Beckett was concerned, he'd already said too much, and was set against anyone else knowing pretty much anything.  But Kevin strongly disagreed, having been left out of the loop on several occasions and finding it to be a complete disaster.  He reminded the Sheriff in great detail, how his secretiveness regarding the mentally unstable Cassie had nearly cost him his marriage. Though he was carefully not to mention the lost child, its ghost hung there between them, a painful reminder of bad decisions.

        The priest felt a small stab of guilt for bringing up that whole painful memory.  Being hurtful wasn't at all his style.  But if he were to  have an active role in all of this, he did not wish to be untruthful to those he held nearest and dearest.  Besides, he was a horrible liar.  Had the worst poker face of anyone he knew, and could never get his bullshit stories straight.  There was simply no way he would be able to lie to Maureen.  Or Roxanne, for that matter.  They both had an uncanny ability to see right through his feeble deceptions, and keeping something this overwhelming a secret would be impossible for him to do for any length of time.

          He was, however, perfectly willing and able to cut the time-traveling stranger out of the inner circle.  Kevin found the man to be pushy and opinionated, full of comments and suggestions he had no right to be making.  Plus, the way he hung around Roxie, moon-eyed and drooling, annoyed the priest to full proportions.  It was bad enough he had been bamboozled into hiring the man, even letting him live on parish property.  There was no way he wanted Ian Sawyer anywhere near something as important, as mystical and divine, as Caladbolg.

         Beckett saw it different.  He respected the young Patriot, and was both impressed and grateful for the help that he'd given them when they had time-traveled.  In addition, he felt responsible for the young man's well being, as it was because of their intrusion into the past that the he was now living in the present.  Although he would never be as blunt in front of his wife and Roxanne, he felt having an extra male involved in whatever might come their way was surely an asset. Besides, it was his observation that Ian was crazy about Roxanne, and since they didn't stand a chance of separating the two, there was no reason to expend energy trying to do so.  The man clearly had been part of the craziness from the beginning, and to cut him out now would be counter productive.

          They walked back to the rectory in silence, Caladbolg slung over Beckett's arm in some type of back zippered duffle bag.  The night air was warm and calm, a peaceful August evening in direct contradiction to what was churning in both men's heads.  It was a few minutes after 11, and the street was quiet and empty.  Yet every sound...every rustle of a bush, the humming of crickets, their feet scrapping the rough pavement... was amplified in their ears.  It seemed as if they could even hear the blood rushing through their very veins, and Fr. Kevin wondered if it was perhaps because of the sword bouncing against his brother-in-law's shoulder.

          The rectory parlor was dark, the flickering light from the television casting a dim glow on three sleeping bodies, Roxanne and Maureen on either end of the sofa, and Ian stretched out on the floor.  A half eaten bowl of popcorn, and several empty bottles of ale gave evidence to the night's entertainment.  Not wanting to startle them, Beckett went over to his wife and kissed her softly on the  cheek.  She stirred a bit, then drowsily opened one eye.  It took only a second before she recognized the face hovering above her, and squealing, threw herself at him.  The high pitch sound jolted Ian awake, and he was on his feet, in defensive posture, before his brain registered who had entered the room.  All three of them spoke at once, flinging questions and demands, the volume so loud in his head it seemed unbearable.  Fr. Kevin covered his ears with his hands, desperately trying to temper the noise, suddenly frightened about the sword's absolute power over him.

____________________________

            Nothing of importance could be discussed until his sister and her husband had adequately welcomed each other home, which was awkward to say the least.  Their making out at the end of his sofa was embarrassing to both he and Roxanne, though Ian found it quite entertaining, grinning and winking, and making Fr. Kevin like him even less.  Secretly though, he was happy to see his sister happy.  The past few months had been painful for her, and it now appeared that she and Beckett had found some solid ground to their relationship.  It was all together a good thing, but he could feel the presence of the sword, propped as it was against the hallway door, and he was anxious to share his concerns with the group.

            Maureen insisted on feeding the two of them before anything could be done, and the Ridre Dubh let her do what made her the happiest.  Once they had full plates in front of them, and everyone's glass was refilled, all attention turned to Beckett, who did his very best to explain all that had happened since his disappearance from the upstairs bedroom a little more than 24 hours before.  He exhibited more patience than Kevin thought capable, with everyone interrupting him with questions and comments of their own.  He took each of their inquiries seriously, calmly doing his best to appease their fears.  It was a side of his brother-in-law he'd never seen before.  He'd always exuded a sense of leadership, of careful control.  But now there seemed to be a steely sense of quiet reserve where before there had been only humming hostility.  He wasn't sure if it was his role as the Black Knight that had effected the change, or Caladbolg, but it made a striking difference.

            Fr. Kevin had expected the others to be shocked by Beckett's mission.  Imagined them to be as aghast as he had been at the outright murder of another human being. But it was Kevin who was speechless.  None of the three showed the slightest concern over what needed to be done.  Even his sister, who couldn't stand the tiniest mistreatment of others, nodded along when Beckett described what She Who Was All had asked.  It was as if Owen Kelly ceased to be a real person, and had somehow become the monster under the bed.  Both women had blanched at the description of how Kelly planned to increase his own power, the whole idea of creating a life for the purpose of stealing  stem cells an atrocity that made them shudder.   Ian's lack of modern medicine made it difficult for him to understand just what the Ridre Dubh was trying to explain.  His initial discomfort at the sketches the Knight drew describing human reproduction gave way to full anger when he finally understood what the human wizard was up to.  He responded with a string of colorful curses, vowing to do whatever he must to prevent such heinous things from happening.

        Once he was sure the group understood what was involved, the Black Knight unveiled the sword, explaining what he and Kevin had discovered about his history.  For several seconds, no one moved, starring at the thing as if it were a full sized python laying across the Sheriff's palm and not a weapon made of precious metal.  The moment Beckett touched it, energy pulsed through the sword, from its pommel to the tip.  Eventually Ian stepped forward, asking permission to touch it.  Beckett handed the weapon to him, and as soon as it left the Ridre Dubh's hands, it become a simple weapon. Still beautiful, still impressive, but without the strange light that it had exhibited when the Sheriff had possession.   It was the same with Roxanne, the weight of the thing extreme, but showing no signs of the mysterious energy it had a few moments earlier.

         Maureen declined to touch it, uncertainty and fear plain in her expression.  With encouragement from her husband, she eventually laid one hand across the pommel, the other on the blade.  Instantly,
the sapphire in the handle crackled to life, causing her to pull her hands away, and leaving her light headed and queasy.  To prove his theory, the Black Knight then handed the sword to Fr. Kevin, and as it had with Maureen, the large blue stone came alive.  But where its power had made his sister ill, the priest felt energized, acutely aware of every living thing in the room.  His friends stared at him as if they were seeing someone they did not recognize, and he wondered if he looked as odd as he felt.  Beckett went on to explain how the Fairy Queen had spoken of the need for a Knight's Second, of someone who could be entrusted with the sword, and to aid in the quest.  She had told him that his Second was someone he knew well, and that when the time came, Caladbolg would direct him in his choice.  It was as the Queen had said.  The sword had chosen Kevin.

            If any of them had doubts over Kevin's ability to take on this role, they politely kept it to themselves.  Maybe they were simply overwhelmed.  The things discussed in the rectory parlor were certainly unbelievable and fantastic, events far from being explainable.  If the Pastor of Holy Family Church was destined to aid in this war against something evil, then who were they to disagree?  It was obvious Kevin had a strong connection to the sword, and if what they had read was true, and the sword had been handed down from St. Michael the Archangel, then maybe it was not too far fetched to accept the notion that a servant of the Divine would be involved.

             Beckett gave them little time to ponder the mysteries.  He was more interested in a plan of action then debating over the hows and whys of things.  He had decided that he and his Second needed to spend some time seriously training with Caladbolg, as neither of them had experience in wielding a long sword.  He could not rely on help from his usual sources. His role as the Black Knight, his quest, and the presence of the weapon had to be kept completely hidden from outsiders, and in his head, vowed that The Powers That Be would never ever learn of its mystical existence.
He simply could not pull the thing out and practice maneuvering it in the backyard of the deli, or even on the rectory grounds.  He had decided hours ago that the group needed to retreat to somewhere obscure, a spot where they could plan and train in complete privacy.

          When he offered his cabin as that place, Kevin felt the breath leave his chest.  Even Maureen  turned a few shades paler.  Their last visit to Beckett's cabin up north was an unpleasant memory.  It had been a planned as a Thanksgiving holiday, a chance to enjoy their bounty and gratitude in a tranquil, natural setting.  It had been anything but peaceful, and there was little to be thankful for.  In those few days, they had become involved in a young woman's murder, been left with an abandoned baby on their doorstep, and been front row witnesses to Beckett's strange, tumultuous relationship with the psychotic Cassandra Donaghue.  Both Kevin and Maureen had multiple reasons why they never wanted to step foot in the place again, and their obvious negative reaction did little to make Roxanne and Ian want to agree to a visit.

             But the Ridre Dubh refused to take no for an answer.  He was adamant that the cabin offered the best place to prepare for what needed to be done.  It was large and private, offering the space they needed without the prying eyes of others.  It contained all the modern comforts of home, and would be a perfect place for Roxanne to continue to recover from her injuries, as well as enable the five of them to remain together.  It was the best solution to the problem, and he was set on his decision whether or not the rest of them agreed.  If there had been any doubt about who was in charge, it quickly dissolved.  The Black Knight would lead...and they would follow.

 Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved

           

Caladbolg

   

       Kevin stood glued to his spot, the panel of mirrors across from the weight machines reflecting his  expression.  He looked like one of those bewildered cartoon characters, his mouth and eyes perfect round circles that were supposed to covey a message of shock to the reader.  In his case, shock wouldn't begin to cover what he was feeling.  For a brief second, he waited for a punch line.  Prayed for a punch line.  Something...anything... to clarify that Beckett was joking.  When the man remained silent, he was forced to go on a limb to attempt his own rescue.

       "You're joking... right?  Please tell me you set me up for a good laugh."

        The bland expression was back, the mask of indifference settled firmly on his face.  "No, Kevin. I am not joking."

         How did one respond to a revelation like that?  He was, after all, a servant of the Church.  A priest who had been hearing confessions for nearly eight years.  In all that time, he'd listened to countless people bare their souls.  Listened as they spilled the awful truth of human existence into his lap, the one part of his vocation he found the most emotional draining.  During his seminary schooling, he'd often wondered what he would do if someone confessed to the sin of murder.  The Church had specific instruction as to how it was to be handled, but until this moment, he'd been spared that particular challenge.   And now, here it was, the weight of it staring at him from a familiar face.

           No words would come, the Spirit obviously letting him sweat this one out on his own.  He turned instead, and marched back to the desk, pouring himself a double, and throwing it back without waiting for an invitation.  The whiskey burned smooth and hot, the warmth spreading from his throat to his empty gut, churning in rhythm with the confusion in his head.  An assassin.  His sister's husband.   Someone he considered a friend.  The realization sucked the breath out of him, and the shock and uncertainty of a minute ago gave way to anger and hurt.  "So...what you're telling me here is that you are a murderer.  A killer for hire."

            The expression on Beckett's face didn't change, but Kevin was sure he saw the tiniest bit of tightening around his jaw, a slight flicker to his eye lids.  The Sheriff leaned against an exercise bike, resting his weight on the seat.  "I don't like to think of it that way.  I do what needs to be done for the safety of this country.  For its people."

              "Is that what you tell yourself?  That you're a patriot?  That what you do is for the greater good?  Rah rah...raise the flag? You can't really believe that nonsense, so don't go trying to sell me some cart load of bullshit.  You murder people!  In cold blood.  Then you come back here and pretend to be some honorable law man.  A pillar of the community."  He slammed the empty glass down on the desk, the force of it sending spider web cracks through the Waterford crystal.  A thought came to him, like a sudden stabbing pain.  "Does Maureen know this?  Does my sister know that she's married a low life killer?"

              This time he knew he'd hit a nerve.  Beckett's eye's narrowed, and his posture, relaxed just seconds before, changed to stiff tension.  "My wife is aware of my duties.  I told her before we were married."

               "And how does she feel about that?  The idea that she sleeps every night next to a murderer?"

              "Tread lightly, O'Kenney.  You're on dangerous ground."

               Kevin hesitated for a moment, his eyes taking in the assortment of weapons on the wall behind his brother-in-law.  Tried to picture the Beckett he knew using them to snuff out some one's life.  There had always been something hard about the man.  A piece of him that seemed cold and aloof, emotionally keeping everybody at arm's length.  But here was also the guy who coached little league every summer.  Who not only built the town's no-kill animal shelter, but continually funded its upkeep, and spent hours there as a volunteer.  The guy who sat at his table in the rectory for countless games of gin rummy and micro brews. Who without a bit of hesitation, suspended disbelief, and jumped into the unknown to rescue Maureen from the past.  The same guy who made his sister's eyes light up the moment he walked into the room.  He should have felt a sense of righteous indignation.  Revulsion bubbling over with the reality of it all.  But all he felt was a huge sense of disappointment.  Of being tricked and made out as a fool.  The thought shamed him, and it was for that reason he needed to escape the small confines of the strange garage.

           Fr. O'Kenney headed toward the door, bent on just getting the hell out of the wretched place, when another thought came to mind.  He stopped and turned toward the Sheriff, who stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, expressionless.  "Why now, Ted?  Why decide to drop this bomb on me now?"

           And now the mask came down, grim weariness where once there was nothing.  "Because of this, Kevin."  He walked back toward the wall, and reaching under a ledge, pushed a hidden button.  A wide drawer slid open, its contents nestled in yards of black material, an odd bluish light seemingly emanating from the item within.

          At first, he couldn't believe what he was truly seeing, and so he took a few steps closer.  The air in the room suddenly felt warmer, as if heat were somehow radiating from that opened drawer.  Kevin blinked, the light almost too much for his eyes, as the dark jewel in the pommel flashed with tiny burst of white hot flashes.  He put his hand out, and then quickly drew it back, suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of apprehension.  He made the sign of the cross out of habit, and the jewel flashed even brighter.  His mouth felt dry, his tongue like lead, and the words were difficult to push out.  "Holy Mother of God...what is that?"

            Beckett lifted the sword out of the drawer, and laying it unafraid across his palms, said, "Fr. O'Kenney, I'd like to introduce you to Caladbolg.

______________________________

            It was hours before Kevin noticed that late afternoon had turned into late evening.  It seemed like he had only phoned Maureen awhile ago to apologize for being held up by a needy parishioner, but the time on his cell phone was reading 10:00 PM.  He had lost himself in the ancient parchment, the Gaelic words written in some type of long verse narrative.  He and Beckett had been able to translate only half of the words, but the story was beginning to take shape.  It told the story of the Fay, from their creation and beyond, of the first appearance of Caladbolg.  When he had come to the first hint of the sword's orgins, his heart nearly stood still in his chest.  Could it really have come from the hand of St. Michael, the warrior defender of Heaven?   It was too much for an average human to take in, even a human who had built his life on faith alone.

             But here it was, the blue stone crackling with energy, resting on the desk in front of him.  He'd finally worked up enough courage to physically touch the thing, and when he had laid a hand on its hilt, the jolt of electric current ran clear up his arm and into his head.  But it was when it was in Beckett's hands that the thing truly came alive, the metal glowing with pure light.  It was the part of this whole thing that the priest could make the least sense of.  If what was written here was true, and the sword was actual a divine gift from Heaven itself, why would it react so strongly to someone like his brother-in-law?  A man who destroyed life?  Who professed no belief in things of God?

               If he'd truly possessed any sense of decorum, any spiritual logic at all, he would have walked out of that garage the minute Beckett had suggested that he, Fr. Kevin Seamus O'Kenney,  Pastor and Shepard of Holy Family Church, dedicated Disciple of Christ, was destined to be the Black Knight's "second".  He should have run from that place without ever looking back.  But the draw of the Archangel's name, the possibility that he had within his reach a tangible relic of Heaven was too strong a temptation to resist.  And so, with heads bent over the musty, browned parchment, Caladbolg flickering on the desk in front of them, he and the Ridre Dudh changed their lives forever.

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved

              

            

          

 

            

          

         

         

Beckett Revealed

The reaction reserved for unexpected guests

       The errand was an escape, and Fr. Kevin was grateful for it.  He was sick to death of watching Ian entertain the ladies with amusing little anecdotes and pun-ny witticisms , and when he pulled out a length of clothes line to do some silly rope tricks, the priest knew he needed to get out.  Maureen's request to run over to the deli to pick up some items for supper afforded him an excuse to leave, and though he offered to walk the twelve blocks to the Mega-Mart on 5th and Central, her insistence otherwise found him making due with a short jaunt to Schiller's and the Beckett's apartment above it.

          He was determined to lengthen the experience as much as possible, so he made it a point to stop along the way to chat with neighbors, admire the current state of their vegetable gardens, and gush over photos of the latest grandchildren.  When he finally reached the deli a block and a half away, he had managed to whittle away nearly an hour, and a text from his sister reminded him she was still waiting for her groceries, and that dinner was now going to be later than planned.

         Mo had asked him to retrieve her small roaster from under the sink, and he headed toward the back of the property to make his way up to their flat.  As he unlocked the door, he heard the distinctive clang of metal on metal coming from the large garage situated a few feet from the main building.  He stopped in mid-step, alarm settling itself around him.  The structure was his brother-in-law's private space, a venue you did not breach uninvited.  Several months ago, Beckett had gutted the small brick building, creating a personal gym and office of sorts, a spot he often retreated to when the confines of the small studio apartment felt restrictive.  He doubted more than a handful of people had ever been inside, he himself only given a brief stationary tour when the remodel was finished.  The fact that someone was inside now, when Beckett himself was off somewhere with the Fay, was a serious situation

        Fr. Kevin reached for his phone, first impulse being to call the Sheriff's office about a possible break-in.  Then, he abruptly shoved the cell back into his pocket.  He knew his brother-in-law.  The last thing he'd want was for a bunch of his underlings milling about his stuff.  When it came to privacy, Beckett was near psychotic, and so the priest decided to investigate on his own before involving anyone else.  Maybe it was just one of the Schillers, inside with landlord's privilege, or possibly a neighborhood kid bent on mischief.

            He tip-toed across the tiny plot of grass, careful not to step on his sister's patch of rose garden, and peered into the corner of the window.  Instead of seeing inside, his own reflection stared back at him.  What looked like ordinary windows to the outside world were instead paned with a kind of special privacy glass.  It should have surprised him, but it didn't.  There had always been something odd about Ted Beckett.  He'd known the man nearly three years, thought of him as friend, if anyone could use that term to describe Ted, and considered him family since his marriage to his sister.  But as far as personal information went, the guy was pretty much a complete stranger.  He held his personal history, as well as his emotions and thoughts, completely in check, and the few glimmers Kevin had of the man's personality left him troubled.

              The view being blocked, the priest pushed his ear against the glass, trying instead to distinguish what might be going on by sound alone.  He could still hear the rhythmic bang of what was surely weights, and the underlying sound of someone breathing deeply.  Whoever was inside was obviously using one of the weight machines, and that realization caused him to relax.  It was unlikely a thief or someone up to no good would take the time to use exercise equipment.  Before he could process that thought, he found himself in a choke hold, his source of air cut off, and something cold and metal poking in his ribs.

__________________________________

                 Roxanne tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand, something about brewing ale, a long complicated dissertation that Maureen seemed more interested in than she.  Instead, she was focused on his hands.  Large and strong, callused, and deeply tanned.  The hands of a man who worked out of doors.  She watched as he used them to describe the process of fermentation, nodding just enough to give the impression she was paying attention.

         Charming and sweet, he had tried to entertain them with some rope tricks using a piece of old clothes line that he found in the cluttered rooms over the rectory garage.  Though he was quite good, all she could think about were those hands.  The long slender fingers in control of the rope, the way his thumb slid over the fibers, the cording of the muscles when he pulled both ends tight.  How it might be to have those hands on her came to mind.  It had made her go all gooey inside, the room suddenly too warm despite the air conditioner in the window blowing directly on her.

         It was utterly ridiculous.  The whole situation.  She was still recuperating from surgery, banged up and bandaged, a tangle of tubes still running from both arms, confined to a hospital bed in a strange bedroom.  No.  Not strange.  Kevin's bedroom.  In the rectory. With Ian's beautiful hands sitting across from her.  It was too weird, and it made her sweat.

        Across the room, Maureen pulled out her phone, and checked the time.  "I wonder what's keeping Kevin?  He's been gone almost an hour already.  At this rate, it'll be after 7 before we eat dinner."  She pecked out a text message, and then rose from the chair, heading toward the door.  "I'm gonna go down and put some water on to boil.  Hopefully, my errant brother will return soon with the groceries."  She turned and looked at them both, and catching Roxanne's eye, the flush to her cheeks, grinned.  "You guys good to wait until dinner, or should I fix a little snack?"

        Food?  No.  No food.  How could she think about food with those hands resting on the side of the bed, inches away from her.  "I'm fine, Mo.  I'll just wait until dinner's ready."

        The afore mentioned hand snaked out across the short expanse of bedding, and took hers, twining the fingers between his before she could pull away.  "I too shall wait in anticipation of your culinary delights, Madame.  And until that time arrives, I shall sit here and feast myself upon Miss Roxanne's beauty."

_______________________________

         For a nano second, he couldn't breath, the arm a vise across his wind pipe.  Then it loosened, and a low voice whispered in his ear.  "Damn, O'Kenney.  Sneaking up on people is a good way to end up dead.  Never saw you as the Peeping Tom type."

          He recognized the voice, and his relief was tempered with a tinge of annoyance.  "You're back, I see.  Why are you hanging out here by yourself?  We've been worried sick about you...especially your wife."

          Beckett stuffed the gun back into his waistband, and shrugged.  "Yeah...I understand that.  I needed some time alone before I rejoined you all."

          "Why?  What's wrong?  Where have you been?  And what does the Fairy Queen have to do with all of this?"

            The Sheriff motioned towards the door, and moved inside, with Fr. Kevin a few steps behind him.  He felt a little squiggle of pleasure at being invited into his brother-in-law's inner sanctum, and then berated himself for acting like a little kid with hero worship.  It took a few seconds for him to realize that he still was hearing the same sounds of the weight machine and breathing, despite the fact that no one was using them.  Beckett hit a button within a panel on the wall, and the noise stopped.  He shut the door, and a lock clicked into place.

             "You have a sound track for your gym? Really?  That's pretty weird, even for you."

              Shrugging again, he replied, "It worked, didn't it?  You never saw or heard me coming." Then opening a cabinet, he pulled out two glasses and a bottle of Jameson Special Reserve and raised them toward the priest in question.  Kevin nodded, and for a few moments neither of them spoke as the Sheriff raised the glass in quick toast, and the two men threw back the amber liquid in one smooth gulp.

               Beckett took a spot in a leather chair behind a large wooden desk, and signaled that the priest should take a seat as well.  Kevin grabbed a wooden chair and dragged it to a position near the desk, and noticed for the first time, two large parchment scrolls leaning against the wall.  He waited for the man to start speaking, but instead Beck ignored him, focused instead on an open lap top in front of him.  Finally, he could wait no longer, and asked, "Aren't you going to tell me where you've been for the last 24 hours?"

               His eyes never left the screen, but he answered, "24?  Has it been that long?"

               "Uhmmmm...yeah.  You disappeared yesterday in the middle of dinner.  We had no idea what happened to you.  One minute you were speaking to She Who Was All, and then...poof...you were gone. With no information at all about where you went, or when you would return. Mo's besides herself with worry, you know."

         He felt a prick of guilt, because that wasn't actually true.  His sister was oddly calm about the whole thing, and when he revealed that Brian had given him no useful knowledge regarding Beckett's situation, she had stated most confidently that her husband was fine, and would return when he could.  How she knew this, he had no clue, but she seemed privy to information he lacked and was decidedly
vague about how she had gathered it.  But Maureen was his brother-in-law's weak spot, his Achille's heal, and he had hoped to guilt him into some kind of response.

        " I regret having to worry my wife, but it couldn't be helped.  Besides, its good training for her."

         It was a strange response.  Training?  For what?  As her husband was in law enforcement, it was expected that he would at times be putting himself at risk.  But Dollyville had very little crime, and it was unlikely his job as Sheriff caused her much angst.  Beckett had proved himself more than capable of taking care of himself in perilous situations. Why would she need training for times her husband disappeared?  Little warning bells went off in his head.  That ever building, niggling worry that there was something about the man he was completely missing.

           Fr. Kevin pushed all that out of his head for the moment, and concentrated on the issues at hand.  "So then...where were you?"

          "Frankly, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

          "I wouldn't believe you?  How can you say that after all I've been through!  Or have you forgotten I spent days...weeks...in someone else's body!  Someone else who officially had been dead for a 150 years!  That wretched watch is still my damn responsibility!  I, of all people, am perfectly capable of taking you seriously."

            Beckett thought about that for a moment, and then must have agreed.  " I was in what they call "I idir".

            Kevin quickly did the Gaelic translation.  "The In Between?"  What...is that some kind of Middle Earth place?"

            "Apparently so.  It is the home base for the Fay.  A very strange place indeed."

            The priest sat stunned for a moment.  After all he had been through in the past year, after all he had seen, the fact that a place like that actually existed should not have shocked him as much as it did.  Yet it stopped him cold.  As a kid, he had been drawn to the old legends, Celtic folklore, and the classic writings of Tolkien and C.S. Lewis.  He had lost himself in tales of dragons and magic, of wizards and epic battles between things unseen.  Hardly appropriate reading for one destined to the service of the Church, but a joyous, guilty pleasure none the less.  Now in hindsight, he wondered if his penchant for such things weren't part of some Divine plan.  "So it's real then?  A real place.  What a wondrous thought."

            "I can't say that was my first reaction.  I'm not particularly fond of being hijacked against my will.  That whole concept will take some getting used to.  Some serious retraining."

             It was the second time he had used that word.  Training.  It struck Fr. Kevin as odd, until he remembered the photo he had seen in the Sheriff's office.  The one in which a younger Beckett was standing amongst a group of men in fatigues, somber and stern, sunglasses hiding his eyes.  He had never much talked about his past, glossing over any questions about his time in military service.  Kevin had once asked his sister about it, and she too had changed the subject.  Why this all was coming to mind now he wasn't sure.

              "Someday, you'll have to tell me all about it...the I idir... but for now, I'm dying to know what it is she wants from you.  All this Black Knight stuff is pretty strange."  He glanced at Beckett's face, usually a mask of bland indifference, and caught a sense of wavering, as if he could not decide how to proceed.  There was a tangible feeling of tension in the room, making him oddly uneasy, and Kevin went to diffuse it using the only method he knew...humor.  "Wait...let me guess.  She wants you to rescue a magical damsel in distress."  There was no reaction, and so he continued.  "In an ivory tower.  And to do so, you need to slay an evil wizard."

            Beckett's stricken face caught him off guard.  Hitting the obvious truth was the last thing he'd expected.  The Sheriff ran a hand through his hair.  "You are more astute than I ever gave you credit for, O'Kenney."   He left Kevin with his mouth hanging open, and moved to the far end of the garage to a wall that held a series of weights and pulleys. "I need to explain something to you, Kevin.  But I need your absolute assurance that what I say remains strictly between you and I.  As a priest, as well as my wife's brother."

             He suddenly felt ill, and any attempt at humor evaporated like rain on a steamy August afternoon.  Fr. Kevin knew with an uncanny sense of resolution, that whatever Beckett was going to tell him, it would change things between them forever. "Of course, Ted, you have my word on that.  Completely."

               He fingered one of the metal brackets, and the wall slid back.  It took a few seconds for the priest to fully comprehend what he was seeing.  The wall behind the sliding panel held a large variety of weapons, everything to small handguns to automatic weapons, with a smattering of odd looking daggers and knives.  There was even what appeared to be a small rocket launcher, if his memory of action movies served him right.  He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say in light of this revelation, and so he went for the obvious.  "What is all this...this stuff?"

                "They're weapons.  All of them."

                "Duh! I can obviously see that.  But why are they here?  In your garage?  I know that as Sheriff you need some type of protection, but this..." He pointed to the rocket launcher thing, "...well, this just seems like overkill."

                Beckett looked directly at him, and their eyes locked.  "I work for the government, Kevin.  I have for a number of years.  I use these things...this equipment...in that capacity."

               The words floated around in his head, with him trying to make sense of what it was the man in front of him was trying to say.  Pieces of the puzzle began to fall in place.  The extreme sense of privacy.  The strange group of friends.  The way he made things happen that were out of reach for ordinary people.  And the ability the man had to change his demeanor, his personality, at any given instance.   The words sounded goofy coming off his tongue, but he said them anyway.  "So...what you're telling me here is that you're some kind of government spy?"

               Beckett stood for a moment, his face grim.  "Spy?  No. Not spy.  More like assassin."


Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved

           

       

         




         

       

     



               

The Queen Delivers

           At the Queen's words, the forest around them seemed to stand still, as if every living thing waited on his response.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a strange variety of butterfly, its wings blinking in glimmering shades of blue and yellow.  It hovered to the right of him, hanging in animated suspense, tiny head bent in his direction.  Even the leaves on the foliage stopped moving in the breeze, instead curling toward the direction of their conversation.  Though he could see no one, he had the feeling that hundreds of tiny eyes and ears were centered on him, a sensation that was more than a bit disconcerting and unlike anything he'd ever experienced on any mission before this one.

             Beckett drained the ale in his cup despite the notion that he might be drugging himself.  It was a ploy to gain a few more seconds to think before answering.  Half of his brain was screaming out over the absolute absurdity of the moment.  Fairies and wizards?  Stuff from fantasy tales by Tolkien and Lewis.  Not real.  Couldn't be.  Went against every logical notion he'd ever entertained.  Yet, there was no denying he was where he was.  It wasn't a dream or hallucination.  And the whole time travel mission to retrieve Maureen was proof there were possibilities in the universe he'd never considered.  But what she was asking was cold blooded murder without the guise of patriotism he'd come to rely on.

               He put the cup on the ground, presenting the blandest expression he could muster.  "And if I refuse?"

               There was a physical ripple of energy at his question, but She Who Was All jut smiled in turn.  "You are Ridre Dubh.  You will not refuse."

               Her confidence irked him, and he fired back.  "I will not be threatened, You Majesty.  It's not how I work."

               "I need no threats, Black Knight.  You are many things. Some that darken the soul.  But you are honorable when it comes to your promises.  You freely signed the contract I presented. There was no fairy magic, no falsehood in our deal.  I made it possible for you to retrieve your mate from a time that was not her own, which I will add, was no simple feat. In return, you vowed to act as my champion. To serve as needed. Owen Kelly must be stopped, for the good of the Fey, as well as the destiny of your mortal world.  If he succeeds in his goal, there will be little that will stop him.  His control would have no boundaries... in our world and yours.   It is your quest to stop that from happening, and you will complete it because you are the Ridre Dubh."

                She was right of course.  He always paid his debts.  His wife was back where she belonged, safe and no worse for the experience.  She Who Was All had made that possible, and now he owed her his assistance.  And it wasn't like this Owen bastard was a gift to humanity.  What he was doing went beyond theft.  Beyond rape.  It was a crime against humanity itself.  He had taken other lives for less.

            "Let's say I agree to do this.  I get to handle it my way, correct?  No interference from you as to the methods I use?"

             The Fairy rose and fluttered to a place on his forearm.  "As Ridre Dubh, that is your right.  Handle your quest as you see fit, though I must insist that you move as quickly as possible.  Owen has amassed a large selection of...possibilities.  It is only a matter of time before he finds a way to succeed."

              "How do you know he'll ever be successful?  You said yourself it might never work."

               She looked away before continuing, a signal to him that she was not being entirely forthright.  "It has been prophesied that one such as Owen might appear in this century, but the details as to whether he would be successful are vague.   We can not risk it.  Not with what is at stake.  You must complete this quest, Black Knight.  It must be done.  Here and now."

                Beckett was sure there was something she was leaving out.  Some piece of the puzzle yet out of his reach.  Whatever it was, he'd damn well discover it, a coup he might be able to use to his own advantage.  He put his hand out, and the Fairy set herself on his palm. Her colors flashed with a brilliance that was difficult to watch with human eyes, and he had to force himself not to look away.
"I accept your challenge, my Queen.  I will seek out this Owen Kelly and do as you ask."

              She clapped her hands in pleasure, and around them, there was the distinct sound of excited humming.  "Well done, Ridre Dubh!  As I knew you would!  The Fey Kingdom rejoices in your commitment to our well being."  She snapped her fingers, and two large parchment scrolls appeared in his lap.  "Here is all we know of Owen and his abominations.  Use it to your...advantage, Sir Knight."

              Her stress of the word "advantage" gave him pause, as if she could have possibly read his own mental intentions moments before.  He shook off any concern, and smiled back. "Parchment, your Majesty?  This is the 21st Century.  We now have extensive venues for research and tracking."

             She Who was All folded her arms, and narrowed her eyes at him. "That is all well and good,
Mortal, and I realize that Owen will also have use of your modern technology.  But what you must understand is that your prey is a formible enemy with skills you can not begin to possess.  He has trained in the old ways, and his Fey bloodline allows for ability you can never hope to match.  What you bring in cunning, strength and sheer determination, he will counter with magic.  To defeat him, you must realize what you are up against.  Owen Kelly is a full wizard, one of only a few left in this century.  He is brilliant, resourceful and without honor of any kind.  To underestimate him would be a fatal mistake."

              It was Beckett's turn to narrow his eyes.  "It sounds as if you believe him invincible."

              "He is powerful, but not invincible.  I offer to you a tool that evens up the sides more than a bit."  She jumped from his palm, wings fluttering to soften her landing.  She turned and wandered a few steps away, stopping in front of a large oak tree of ancient heritage.  Its trunk was equal to the size of a small car, gnarled roots pushing up from the ground in front of it.  As the fairy Queen crept closer, the tree seemed to feel her presence, the lines on its bark twisting in rotating patterns, the branches bending low in what seemed a bow.

               She placed her palms on the front of the tree, and with closed eyes, began chanting in a high pitched keen.  His brain on overload, the Ridre Dubh, fought to look away, but found he could not.  His brain kept repeating the same word over and over again..."impossible, impossible, impossible", but the eyes on his face told another story.  The center of the tree struggled to split open with a creaking sound similar to a crow bar on an old frozen door  It began as a small fissure that grew in size as the chanting continued, separating bit by bit, until two sides of the tree swung open revealing a bright light in the center.  It's dazzling whiteness blinded him for a moment, and he was forced to close his eyes.  When he opened them again, the tree stood exposed, the split now a gaping wound in the middle of its trunk, devoid of the light that was there a second before.

          She Who Was All Stood at his feet with a long iron sword in her hand, and though it looked heavy in weight, she showed no stress holding in holding it up. The grip was gold in color, and in the pommel sat a large stone that sparkled like a diamond, but surly could not have been.  The cross guard was worked in a series of runes, its lines, dashes and circular symbols a language he could not begin to understand. The blade was white hot metal, with a point sharper than he had ever seen on similar weapons, and as she stood there, he thought he could hear the damn thing whispering his name.

           " Ridre Dubh, I present to you Caladbolg.  Use it to defend the Fey, as those who gone before you have done."

            She lay the weapon in his hands, which reached out to receive it by no power that was his own.  The sword was heavier than it appeared, and he wondered how the Fairy, a whisper in size, could have held it herself.  He lifted it point up, feeling the power of the thing surge through his arm, when suddenly the white stone in the pommel changed with a flash to the color of deepest blue, with flickering overtones of regal purple.  Seeing this, the Queen squealed in delight, clapping her hands in celebration.  "You have been deemed worthy of the Merlin stone!  More than we could have ever hoped for.  Far superior to the red or green.  It is truly an auspicious omen for success."

            Overwhelmed by the moment, it took Beckett a few seconds to register the word "Merlin", and a quick mental search for the translation of Caladbolg brought him to disbelief.  "Hell...are you trying to tell me this...this sword is Excalibur?  THE Excalibur?  Like in Arthur and the Round Table Excalibur?  Not fucking possible!"

             She raised her eyebrows at him, and made a face.  "Do not get caught up in your mortal tales, Knight.  The sword is ancient, known throughout centuries under many names, though we have been told and do believe it was originally created by one of the Creator's own messengers.  You may know him as Michael, but he also is known under various titles throughout history.  Legends have surrounded the sword's use for centuries, and it is not to be called upon for anything but the most serious of battles.  Its presence here in your hands signifies that Owen is a force to be reckoned with.  Do not forget that."

              "Am I to understand that you expect me to...to execute this man with sword?  In the year 2015?"

              "Aye, Ridre Dubh.  It is the only way.  You must remove his head from his body by means of Caladbolg.  Any other attempt to end his life will fail."


Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved
               

Ridre Dubh's Quest

       At the mention of Maureen, his mood changed from annoyed to angry.  Beckett turned his head so he was looking directly at the tiny creature.  "I don't take well to idle threats, Your Majesty, so I suggest you employ another tactic."

      She reached up and gave his ear lobe a sharp pinch.  "You be as stubborn as an old mule, Ridre Dubh, and if these were not such dire times, I'd change you into one as a lesson learned.  Alas, we have no time to play games in the traditional manner.  What I say to you is of great importance. To us both."  She flew from his shoulder, settling herself on his ankle and using the bridge of his foot as a workable chaise.  Once comfortable, she continued.  "What know you of your wife's bloodline?"

         "Until a few days ago, I assumed my wife was the eighth child of Irish immigrants, a pretty common occurrence in the Boston area.  This whole idea that she and her brother were in any way different than what they appeared is a new concept...one that I haven't had time to...accept."

           She tisked, and gave his ankle a poke with the heel of her shoe.  "Accept, or not accept.  It matters little.  Things be as they are.  There are currently 140 million humans world wide who carry traces of Fay blood.  They are noted by their red hair."   Beckett opened his mouth to speak,  and she raised her hand to stop him.  "Do not ask me to explain our entire history to you, Ridre Dubh.  It would take more time then we have at the moment, and much will be made clear to you as you complete your quest.  It is enough to say that in the majority of them, the blood line is very weak.  They go about their mortal lives unaware of the history they pass to their offspring."

        She Who Is All snapped her fingers, and a gold goblet appeared in both of their hands, his obviously much larger than hers.  Inside the cup, he could see a golden liquid that smelled curiously like beer.  Seeing his hesitation, she giggled, then explained.  "Drink up!  Tis only honey ale, Knight. I would be mightily foolish poisoning my own property so early in the game."

        Beckett took a sip, and finding it quite good, added a larger gulp.  Satisfied, the Queen took her own sip, and continued.  "Of those 140 million, only 407 carry the Royal line, a much purer connection to those of our kind.  The blood line appears much stronger in females, your mate being one of them, but there are a few males who have shown great ability.  Your prey is one of them."

       "And because of that ability, you want him dead.  He's a threat to your reign."

        The Fairy Queen turned pale, and in obvious anger, threw her cup at him, sloshing drops of ale all over his clothes, the goblet hitting him on the chin. "You understand nothing, Ridre Dubh!  You are a pea brained mortal, incapable of contemplating the whole of things.  That is surely what your people might do.  What we face is a bigger challenge that reaches far beyond my own person.  Can you even contemplate that?"

            "I apologize if I have offended you, Your Majesty.  Please continue."

              She looked at him through narrowed eyes, and then slightly appeased, continued her story, though it was clear that speaking of it was difficult for her.  "The Fay are spirit beings.  Though we are blessed with physical bodies, and can interact in a physical world, we do not share all the gifts of our mortal brothers and sisters.   Our spirits are immortal, though our physical bodies are not.  When we return to the Creator, we leave nothing of our physical self behind."

               "I'm not in any way a religious man, my Queen, but I do believe many mortals hold to the same truth.  The body dies, but the spirit moves on."

                "Aye, Ridre Dubh, so it does.  But humans are capable of leaving some of their physical presence behind in their offspring."  She looked away, and a sense of profound sadness seemed to hang in the air, one he could feel like rain on his skin.  "Our females are incapable of bringing forth children, though we desire nothing as profoundly.  Surely you have heard the old tales of the Fay stealing human infants?  Leaving a challenging in their place?  It was an awful time, and why our males sought out human women.  It was a chance for the Fay to leave their mark upon the world.  For a time, the Creator allowed it as such.  But it has been over a millennium since such a coupling has brought forth a child, and now we must protect the blood line that remains if we are to exist in the physical world.  Our kind are shedding their physical bodies and returning home to the Creator at an alarming rate.  Soon, there may nothing left of us here except the bloodline."
     
     "I understand the need to protect your heritage, my Queen.  Why then do you wish for me to eliminate someone who has such strong biological ties to the Fay?  It doesn't make sense."

        "As a boy, he showed so much promise.  It was obvious that he would be exceptional.  Handsome, brilliant and charming, he was a boon to both the Fay and Mortal worlds.  In addition, he seemed to favor his Fay side, and took to magic at a very early age."

         The Ridre Dubh made a face, and the skepticism was hard to hide in his tone.  "Magic, Your Majesty?  Really?"

          She shook a finger back at him.  "You sit here speaking to me...you've traveled to time in the past, and yet you draw the line at the concept of magic?  You are truly an ass, Knight. I would have hoped for better in one who serves me.  Magic is nothing more than the control of energy.  It is not an impossible feat, even for regular mortals, though few in this time show enough mental capacity for it.  And for those with Fay blood, it is quite easy with proper training.  Though for Owen, training in magic became his life's purpose."

        "Owen?"

        "Aye.  Owen Michael Kelly.  Your prey."

        "So...this Owen character has become too powerful for mortal existence?"

         "That is not it at all, Ridre Dubh.  It is what he does with his power...what he intends to do...that has caused us such concern.  He seeks a mate with a bloodline as strong as his to create a child.  A child that is more Fay than human."  She snapped her fingers again, a second cup of ale appearing in her hands.  She took a long drink as if to steel herself for what needed to be said.  "As I have spoken, there are 407 humans currently alive that carry the Royal bloodline.  Of that number, 203 are females, with 148 being of child bearing age, your wife among them."

         It took a few minutes for her words to sink in.   "Wait...are you saying that this asshole...this Owen character... plans on...is attempting to...have a kid with my wife?  Because that's not gonna happen.  Ever. "

         "I am glad to see that I now have your full attention, Ridre Dubh.  And if these two were to produce a child during their loving union, the Fay would celebrate, as such a thing has never been done before.  A few attempts have been made throughout history, but no surviving child has ever been produced, most being lost in the first three months.  We are not sure it can even be done.  But that does not matter."

         "Well, it sure as hell matters to me.  There's no fucking way that this prick is getting anywhere near Maureen.  No way. No how.  I'll make sure of that."

         "I need you to do more than that, Knight.  Owen needs to be stopped.  Completely and permanently.  What he is...what he does...is an abomination.  His ability with magic is stronger than any mortal we know of.  But he works the dark magic.  There is no good in it.  No peace or joy in the spells he casts.  They are for his personal gain alone..."  She stopped and finished the ale in her cup, while he found his cup suddenly filled to the brim again.  The expression on her face was grim, and the colors of her being had dimmed to the palest shades.  "I have not told you the worst of it, Ridre Dubh.  I can barely speak the words aloud.  Owen does not seek a physical union with your wife, or any of the others.  He seeks only their ability to create a new life. He desires the sacred eggs they carry in their womb.  He does not welcome the new life he wants to create, nor does he plan on the existence of a child.  He wants only the..the essence of the poor thing he will create, not by the plan of the Creator, but in some sterile place, in the bottom of some tube."

       At first his head seemed fuzzy, and he wondered if he hadn't been drugged by the honey ale after all.  Her words swam in his head like small fish in an aquarium, going back and forth, darting from any type of grasp, and hiding amongst mental boulders. Then, the clarity hit him with such force that he jumped to his feet knocking the wee Queen from his foot, and causing her to tumble to the ground.

       "Wait a second!  Are you saying that this Owen is stealing the eggs from their ovaries?  That he has some crazy idea to create a test tube baby?"

         She dusted herself off, not bothering to scold him for her abrupt upheaval.  Looking up at him, she nodded, the weight of her sadness a physical presence around them.  "Aye, Ridre Dubh. That is what I am saying."

         "But you said yourself, no child was ever brought to term.  What makes him think it will work for him?"

         "He does not desire the child.  Not at all.  The life he creates is meaningless to him except for its essence.  Once he has what he desires, he will destroy the wee creation.  If he is successful, he will only need the poor thing to live 7 days.  Then he will have what he wants."

          "Essence?"  He stopped a moment, and then the thoughts fell into place.  "Holy Hell!  He needs the embryonic stem cells.  He's after the combined DNA!"

           "Aye, Ridre Dubh.  It is an abomination, and he must be stopped."

________________________________

               She had convinced the nurse that she was in need a light snack for the simple purpose of escape.  She was thoroughly sick of being trapped in bed, and if a white lie helped her stretch her legs a bit, she was willing to choke down whatever healthy menagerie the woman returned with.  With wobbly steps, Roxanne made her way to the window overlooking the church grounds.  From this vantage point, she could see Kevin sitting in the bushes next to the church, seemingly having an animated conversation with himself.  She hoped no one else saw what she was seeing, as they surely would have thought the Pastor had gone around the bend, though on her end, after what she'd been through since moving to Dollywood, she knew better.

             Here was hoping that Kevin had made contact with his little pal.  Maybe the wee man could shed some light on the Sheriff's whereabouts.  Not that she was worried about Beckett.  He had proven time and time again that he was more than capable of tackling whatever was thrown his way.  Still, it would offer Maureen some piece of mind, a gift she was sorely lacking.  Across the yard, she could see her friend tossing empty boxes from the rooms over the garage, and could hear laughter coming from inside.  Male laughter.  Ian's laughter.

            Thinking about Ian made her feel more wobbly.  How in the hell was she supposed to process all of this?  The whole time travel thing had been weird enough, but to now find herself with a 250 year old boyfriend was more than the average woman was meant to handle.  A boyfriend, who apparently, in this time and space, was a few...no make that several...years younger than she was.  When Ian had revealed his supposed age, she was shocked.  She had never guessed him to be that young.  Maybe people in Colonial times just looked older.  Never the less, here in 2015, she felt like a cougar after the companionship of a young man barely out of his teens.

          She pushed that thought out of her head.  There was no way she was ready to think about any permanent relationship with Ian Sawyer, but she certainly couldn't just leave him to fend for himself. It was her fault he was stuck here in the 21st Century.  Away from everyone and everything he had ever known.  The least she could do was offer the poor guy some companionship and support, right?

          Who was she kidding!  She was already a 100% sucked in.  The minute he stepped into the room, her temperature rose a few degrees.  Yesterday's day nurse had even joked abut it.  And when he touched her, held her hand, patted her arm, kissed the top of her head, she could feel her heart beat so frantically in her chest, she was sure the monitors she was attached to would give her secret away.

          From the window, she could see Ian make his way down the long flight of stairs.  Somehow, he must have sensed she was looking, because he turned toward the rectory and waved, his smile wide and beaming across the expanse of lawn.  She waved back, and then pulled away from the window, flushed and sweaty.  This was crazy.  Like something from a frickin' Disney movie, or one of those sappy shows you find on cable TV.  Storybook romance didn't happen to girls like her.  Not girls whose fathers went to prison.  Whose mothers lost themselves inside a bottle.  No.  There were no Prince Charmings for girls who made their living taking off their clothes for strange men.  This was all well and good for now.  But when Ian got to know the real Roxanne Spinelli, he'd hightail it and run for the hills.  And who could blame him.  Men like Ian weren't meant for girls like her.

Copyright  Victoria T. Rocus  2015
All Rights Reserved

             

       


       

   

"An Idir Eatathu"

           The forked tongue slithered out again, this time marking a sticky path from his chin to his temple, with the lizard's bulbous eyes staring straight into his  own.   If she expected a reaction, she'd be left disappointed.  He'd faced worse. Much worse.  Plus, there was little chance she would do him actual harm.  At least not until he finished what she wanted.  The aftermath was always the most dangerous part of any mission, their being the chance that once the objective was met, you yourself might be targeted as a loose end.

          In many ways, She Who Was All was no different than the Powers he regularly took orders from. She had a specific end game in mind, and didn't hold the needs of others in very high regard.  He was as much a commodity to her, as he was to his government, and to think otherwise, to add sentimental attachment or emotion to the mix, was probably a mistake.

        Beckett wiped the slime from his cheek.  "I'm not really understanding the purpose in discussing business with a lizard, Your Majesty.  I'd rather you just cut to the chase and tell me what it is you want me to do so I can get on with it.  I think we'd both be much happier."

         The tongue snapped out out, capturing a strange orange bug on a nearby leaf.  It tucked the prey between it's razor sharp teeth, and chewed contentedly with its mouth wide open, giving the Knight a close view as it masticated its prey.  Swallowing, she answered.  "I do not care a mite for your happiness, Ridre Dubh, though I must admit to being disappointed at your lack of imagination."  In an instant, the lizard was gone off his lap, and the Fairy Queen shimmered gold and lilac in a branch above his head.

          She settled in against the bark, then made a face.  Snapping her fingers, a large purple cushion materialized under her like smoke.  Now comfortable, she propped her chin on her folded hands, and addressed him.  "There is a certain worker of the Arts. A human. who like your female, carries a line of Fay blood.  It is a line that needs to end, and I want you to eliminate it."

_________________________________________

           He had been at it for nearly three hours, and was by now, very hot, tired and cranky.  The sun had shifted over the church steeple, and was beating down on the back of his head and neck, causing the skin around his collar to feel more than a bit toasty.  Fr. Kevin leaned his back against the church's wood siding, and pulled his knees to his chest.  It was a lost cause.  Brian was a no show, still harboring a grudge from their last conversation, and any chance he had on gathering information about Beckett's whereabouts rested with the wee clurichaun.

           It wasn't like he hadn't tried to apologize.  Because he had.  Several times.  In hindsight, he realized he might have over reacted to being left behind on the mission to rescue Maureen.  Probably said some things that might have been construed as unkind, especially to a sensitive Fay sort.  But in his defense, he had been feeling overwhelmingly guilty and stressed about his sister's disappearance, and at the moment, Beckett and Roxanne's decision to cut him out appeared as a breach in loyalty, and not the sacrifice it actually was.  He had left a note saying these very things, along with a nice assortment of acceptable peace offerings, and though the note and gifts disappeared, he hadn't heard a word in return.

           The pile of chocolate marshmallow cookies had melted to a puddle on the plate, and the few drops of Jameson in the doll's tea cup had nearly evaporated, with no sight of his grumpy friend anywhere.  Across the lawn, he could see Maureen and Ian moving boxes from the rooms over the garage, hear them laughing, and it made him feel worse. She was off on another project, making things work for their new visitor, secure in the knowledge that her brother was doing his part. He had promised her that he'd get information about her husband, and it seemed like once again, he'd end up letting her down.  With a sigh, he tilted the little cup, pouring what was left of the whiskey into the dirt.

            His actions were immediately met with an outcry.  "Saints blood, man!  Dunna you be wasting
good whiskey like that!  Tis a sin, it is!"  Brian poked his head among the foliage, his hands cupped and holding the poured liquid.  With a large slurp, he sucked the Jameson's from his palm, wiping both hands in his pants only after being assured there wasn't a speck left.  He dipped a stubby finger into the plate of melted cookies, and popped the digit in his mouth, licking every trace of chocolate and marshmallow creme before commenting again.  "Aye.  Tasty indeed.  A morsel fit for the Queen herself."

           The little man pulled a large leaf off the bed of hostas, and tied each end to some hedge branches.  He gave it a few punches to test for weight, then hopped into the make shift hammock, giving it a push to make it swing.  Only then did he resume his conversation with Fr. Kevin. "So,
lad...ya appear to have been looking for me.  What is it ya be wantn'?"

         "I'm glad to see you again, Brian.  Really I am.   I feel awful about the way we left things the last time we talked."

          "Ya aught to feel bad, laddie.  Ya were one proper ass, ya were.  I find myself shaken' my head over the promise I made to your granny.  She was might fond of ya, boy. Tis the only reason I'm here."

            There was no use making excuses, or wasting his effort on small talk.  Brian would do as he pleased, and if he had any information he was willing to share, now was the time to ask.  "I need your help, Brian.  Beckett's gone missing, and my sister is frantic with worry."

            "There be no sense in worry.  It solves little.  The Ridre Dubh is where he belongs...serving his Queen."

              "Okay...and where would that be?"

               The clurichaun removed his acorn hat, and scratched his head.  "Saints blood, lad!  Dunno ya remember anything that dear woman spoke to ya? I know for fact she schooled you in our lore.  A bubble head you surely are!  Listen to me straight... if the Queen came for him, then most surely he's an idir eatathu."

                The priest did a mental search, seeking the English words to match the Gaelic.  The translation eventually came to him, but didn't make sense.  "In between?  I don't understand."

                "What's there to understand?  If he is not here, he's gone to An Idir Eatathu. To the homeland. It is where he should be if he serves the Queen."

                "So The In between is... an actual place?"

               "Aye.  That it is.  Through time, humans have had many names for it.  Middle Earth, Otherworld...Avalon.  But to us, it is simply home."

               "And Beckett is there, you say?  How?  According to legend, mortals can't pass into Fay land."

               "Most can not.   But there be exceptions for every rule, laddie.  Surely you know that.  As the Ridre Dubh, your sister's mate can move as needed in his loyalty to our Queen.  If he is there, then she must have need of him, and there is little mortals can do to change that."

               "But he's okay...right?  She Who Is All will see to his safety?"

                The wee man shrugged, and sat upright in his leaf hammock.  "It is not for me to say, laddie.  It is no small thing to be Ridre Dubh.  If She Who Is All has called him to service, then there be something dreadful about.  I can not recall a recent time when there was need for such dire protection.  But what is about, I can not say for certain.  I will, for thee sake, keep my ears open.  Perhaps I will know more in the future."  He slipped off his seat, and grabbing the acorn off his head, scrapped the remains of the melted cookie mess into its bowl shape.  Picking up the doll cup, he raised it toward Kevin.  "I'd be much grateful for another bit of refreshment, lad.  Perhaps the fine whiskey will open my ears further."

_____________________________________

                 Maybe it was his imagination.  Maybe it was not.  But at the word eliminate, the woods around him took on an eery silence, as if they were suddenly sitting in a vacuum of sound.  The wind ceased to blow through the leaves, and the humming of insects, a symphony of background music only seconds before, simply stopped.  It made his entire being go on high alert, and he choose his next words carefully.

                "Eliminate?  I'm not sure what you are alluding to, your Majesty."

                 "Do not play coy with me, Ridre Dubh.  You know perfectly well what I expect.   It is what you do.  What you have done many times before.  This is no different!"

                  She was right of course.  He had taken lives in the name of national security.  Disposed of those who were deemed threats to life and liberty.  But the Fairy Queen was asking something entirely different.  She as talking about taking out an innocent civilian.  Flat out murder, pure and simple.

                 "It is entirely different, your Majesty.  What I do for my country, I do for the greater good.  There are people who wish to do our citizens great harm.   I do what I can to prevent that."

                 "And you will do the same for me, Ridre Dubh, and for my kind, because you have sworn to do as I have asked."  She stared right through him, seeking signs of commitment to the cause.  When there was none, she continued.  "I see you have set your will against mine, Black Knight.  It both saddens and angers me that you take your promises so lightly.  I did as you asked.  Sent you back to find your lost love.  There should be no wavering in your loyalty to me, yet I see stubborn hesitation in your soul."

                  The Fairy Queen flew down from the branch, and perched herself on Beckett's shoulder so that she could speak directly into his ear.  Her breathe was icy cold on his flesh, her words steely.  "If your vow means so little, Ridre Dubh, then let me speak of the future directly.  This evil that upsets the natural order of things here in An Idir Eatathu...it will make its ugly way to your doorstep as well.  Your bloodline, and that of your female, will be forever tainted."

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved

               

     

             

                 

       

       

 


       

Lost In Between

The rectory garage

         Four mouths hung open, staring at the empty space where seconds ago, Beckett had been leaning with his chair resting against the bedroom wall.  The metal folding chair was still oddly balanced on its back two legs, while the plate with the remains of his dinner was perched on the end of the bed in the exact spot he had just left it.   It was as if the seated guest had simply disappeared into thin air, which, for lack of an alternative explanation...he had.

         "Oh, hell!  What just happened here?"  Maureen popped out of her own chair on the other side of the room, rushing to the spot where she had last seen her husband.  Looking to Kevin, she asked, "Do you have any idea where they might have went?"

         "Me?  Why would I know?"

         "It's obvious you have a better handle on this fairy shit than the rest of us, Kev.  You've had more day to day contact with that little friend of yours.  You know...that little leprechaun guy Ted told me about.   I can't remember his damn name."

        "Do you mean Brian?  He's a clurichaun, by the way.  Not a leprechaun.  There's a difference."

        In her frustration, she gave him a sock to the arm.  "I don't care if he's a freakn' sock monkey, Kevin!  You locate him pronto, and find out where my husband went!"  To no one in particular, she added, "This is absolutely unbelievable.  I know they say the first year of marriage is difficult, but this goes way above and beyond ridiculous."  Suddenly teary, she continued, "Please, Kev.  I don't know where to begin.  You gotta do what you can."

        Kevin pulled his sister close, and hugged her.  "Don't worry, Mo.  I'll find Brian and see what he knows.  I'm sure Beckett is okay."

        She sniffled again, wiping the corner of her eyes with a napkin.  "How can you be so sure?  She seems...well...pretty unpredictable."

       In all honesty, he wasn't very sure about anything.  For all he knew, Beckett could be lost to the human world forever.  There were old Celtic myths about such things.  But it wasn't what his sister needed to hear, and so he tried to be logical about the situation, even if the very nature of it held not one shred of science.  "There are two reasons I'm sure he's fine.  Number One...the Fay hold contracts in the highest regard.  Ted is bound to her service for the duration of the terms.  I doubt she'd risk her investment so early in the game.  Secondly, it's obvious she regards you as a high commodity.  Your happiness and well being, as well as your off spring, are of great importance to her.  As she said, you and Ted were destined to be together.  The Fay take such things very seriously.  I don't think she'd do anything to upset what's meant to be."

        His words seem to have a calming effect on her.  She nodded along, and the panic seemed to lose its hold.  "You're right, Kev.  She said I carried Fay blood.  We both do.  We're part of them.  She has to know how much that man means to me.  Surely she'd wouldn't do anything to cause him harm, right? Especially if she wants to see us have children.  Thanks, Kevin.  You make perfect sense.  Still, I'd feel better if you could scout out some information from the Fay themselves.  Maybe your friend has some answers?"

       Fr. Kevin was non-commtal.  Despite his sister's confidence in him, he couldn't be sure they hadn't just seen the last of one Theodore Henning Beckett, III.  She Who Was All would do anything she damn well wanted, and there was little they could do about it.  What he hadn't mentioned to his sister was that the Fay were notoriously moody, volatile and petty.  They perceived slight in the smallest infraction, and doled out punishment harshly, though he had always found the wee clurichaun to be forgiving of his ignorance as a human.  Maybe Brian would have the answers they were seeking.  The problem was, would he want to share them?  They had parted in a less than cordial terms after Kevin had been left behind in their rescue of Maureen. But that was his problem, and he'd do what ever was necessary to help Maureen.  Truthfully, he too was concerned over his brother-in-law's well-being.

      "Sure, Mo.  I'll see what I can do to contact Brian.  I can't say for certain he'll be of any help, but it won't hurt to ask."  Changing the subject, he pointed at Ian.  "In the meantime, what are we gonna do with him? At some point, someone is going to see him and start asking questions."

       Roxanne sat up, tucking several pillow behind her back.  Though still recovering from her surgery, she intended to be forefront in any discussion regarding the time traveling young man.  "Kevin's right.  We don't know how long Sheriff Beckett is going to be gone."  Seeing Maureen's stricken face, she quickly added, "I'm sorry, Mo.  But we have to be sensible and keep things moving along.  You know that's what he'd want us to do."

         Maureen bit her lip and nodded in agreement.  "You're right.  He'd hate it if we all just sat around hand wringing and worrying.  But Ted was the one who was going to see to Ian's formal identity.  We'll have to work around that now."

         "You're correct about that.  Without a Social Security number, and some background information, it will be impossible for him to get a job anywhere."

           It was Ian's turn to be indignant about being discussed as if he weren't in the room.  "Good people...I am quite healthy and able-bodied.  Very capable of hard work.  It should not be difficult to find employment in your time.  Surely, people are still in need of labor.  I will give a fair day's work for a fair day's pay."

           Roxanne reached for his hand.  "Oh, Ian.  I know you will.  It's just that...well...working in the 21st Century is rather complicated.  There's all kind of laws about who can work, how much they're paid, what type of benefits you get for your work.  And of course, the government will take their share of your pay in taxes."

          He started to spit, then remembering he was indoors, abruptly ended his colorful response.  "Aye, taxes!  The bane of the common man!  As you stated earlier, we no longer answer to the Crown.  One would hope that taxes in this time are addressed in a more equitable fashion."

           Roxie laughed.  "That would depend on who you ask, Ian.  But yes, they are more fairly regulated today, at least in essence.  Still, without all the necessary paperwork the Sheriff promised to provide, finding employment for you will be nearly impossible.  Until he returns, you'll have to keep your existence low key.  I'm sure between the three of us, we can help you until then. "

          Ian crossed his arms over his chest, his pride wounded.  "I shall not rest on charity, Mistress.  I shall provide for my own keep, lest you think I am not worthy of your affection."

          "Oh, Ian.  I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.  It's just...well...you're settling in here is rather complicated.  You're gonna need to be patient while we work things out."

          There was an uncomfortable, awkward silence, and while Fr. Kevin found himself realizing how much they depended on Beckett's calm, take charge leadership, Maureen snapped her fingers.
"I got it!  The perfect plan until Ted gets back and fixes things for Ian's citizenship."

           She waited until she had their complete attention.  "Kevin...you have been complaining bitterly how much maintenance work there is around the parish, and how you can't get to all of it.  You've been on your own since that poor man was murdered two years ago."  Roxanne and Ian looked at her, shock framing their expressions, and she answered them with a wave of her hand.  "It's a long story. Kevin was even shot himself.  I'll tell you about it another time.  Anyways...since then, Kev's had to do everything himself, and frankly, there's too much work for one person.  Ian, you said you were handy with tools.  You'd be the perfect replacement."

           Kevin could feel the angst grow in his chest.  This all was getting completely out of control.  If the young man made himself comfortable in a job, it would be harder to convince everyone he belonged back in his own place and time.  He stammered out the first excuse he could think of.  "I know you're just trying to be helpful, Maureen, but the reason I haven't hired anyone before now is that there's no extra money in the parish budget for such a luxury.  The economy being what it is, the weekly donations have been down for a few years running.  Holy Family just can't afford a full time maintenance man."

        "Oh for Pete's sake, Kevin!  Ted has offered to gift the church multiple times, and you always turn him down.  He's not here, and now I'm the one offering.  I'm your sister, as well as a member of the parish council, and if I want to donate a huge chunk of change to my church, then there is no way, in good faith, you can deny me the option to tithe.  I will write a check large enough to cover Ian's salary for at least 3 months.  That will give him a chance to get settled, and look for other work until Ted gets his paperwork in order"

          He was quickly losing control of the whole situation, and one look at Roxanne and Ian's hopeful faces told him he was fighting a losing battle.  He tried again, this time playing Devil's advocate.  "That's all fine and good, Mo.  But how am I legally going to pay him?  What about with holding for taxes.  He doesn't have a Social Security number, remember?  This is way more difficult then you're making it out to be."

        "Geez, Kevin, don't be such a party poop.  I already thought of that.  We'll tell people Ian is a distant cousin of Ted's.  Visiting from England, and just helping you out while he's here.  Nobody has to know you're "paying" him.  Your parishioners think Ted walks on water, they won't question anything they think he's involved with.  As a bonus, you'll get a lot of stuff done around here that desperately needs doing."

        Ian rushed to the priest's side, and began pumping his hand.  "You won't be sorry, Reverend!  I'll give you my best effort, I will.  I also see you have some empty land near the back of the property.  Would you mind if I planted a small patch?  Squash, I'm thinking.  No offense, but I find your ale lacking, and would dearly like to brew my own.  Mind you, you'd have your fair share to do with as you wish."

         Things were now completely out of hand.  The man was talking about planting things, staying long term.  Kevin could feel his stomach churn in general protest.  "Look, I  don't want to be the bad guy here, but you people aren't thinking clearly.  For Pete's sake, where is he even going to stay?  No offense, but I'm really not interested in long term house guest."

        It was the wrong thing to say.  Roxanne looked hurt, and his sister made one of her you-are-really-a jerk-faces, usually reserved for their brother Patrick.  Ian jumped in with a solution.

       "I don't wish to be a burden, Reverend.  You have been kind enough .I can sleep out back.  Make a small lean to.  The weather seems mild enough.  I'm not used to luxury.  That will do me fine."

        Ian's humility and gratitude worked to make him look more the ogre than ever.  He felt guilty at his lack compassion, his conscience eating at him like a small worm.  Before he could talk himself out of it, he offered another solution.  "Don't be ridiculous, Ian.  I can't have you sleeping on the rectory grounds.  There is another alternative.  There are rooms above the garage. They were set up years ago for the care taker when the parish was more solvent.  We've been using them for storage, but I suppose we could take a look and see if they might work?"

         Maureen clapped her hands.  "That's an awesome idea.  I forgot all about those rooms.  I'm sure we could fix them up enough to make a cozy little apartment for Ian.  I mean, look what we did with my flat!  Remember, Kev...it was awful when I found it.  And now, well, it's just the cutest damn thing."  She leaned over to Ian.  "Don't you worry, Ian.  We'll have you settled in no time!"

          The three of them huddled together, Maureen sketching her thoughts on best placement of furniture on his used napkin.  He watched in dismay as life the way he knew it slipped from his fingers, and wondered if, in truth, Ted hadn't been the luckier one.

______________________________________

         One moment, he had been sitting in the rectory bedroom, holding his cell phone in his hand, and in the next, he was here, sitting amongst a jungle of greenery, a riotous tangle of leaves, vines and flowering plants.  His body felt odd, the limbs heavier than normal, as though they were anchors  locking him to the ground.  He shook his head, trying to dispel the fuzzy, foggy feeling, not unlike the aftermath of his time travel.  Training kicked in, and he did a visual reconnaissance of the area, though he found it physically impossible to move.  His eyes suggested he was alone, but something else insisted he was not.  Beckett felt as if he were being watched from several different vantage points, and he could not dispel what sounded like high pitched giggles floating on the breeze.  It was disconcerting, but strangely enough, he felt little threat.

        Above his head, a tall plant, more like a tree, shook with sudden movement.  From it's top, a flurry of green floated down, positioning itself on a large rock few feet in front of him.  The giggles deepened, turning into a sing song laugh, and slowly the form of She Who Was All visualized in front of him.

         "Welcome, Ridre Dubh.  I suppose it is rude to laugh at your discomfort and confusion, but the look on your face is far too precious to leave unengaged."

            Beckett used all the strength he could muster to try and stand, but his attempt was lacking, and he slid with an embarrassing thump back to the ground."  His frustration mounting, he let out a string of obscenities, which were met with another round of giggles.  He heard them all around him, but could see no one, and his radar went on high alert."

           She Who Was All waved her hand.  "That will be enough, little ones.  Our Black Knight wishes to acclimate himself without your prying observation.  Disperse for now.  I will call you when needed."

             There was a low hum, and from the tops of the greenery, tiny clouds of light floated upward and moved out of his sight.  The Fairy Queen waited until they had all disappeared before continuing her conversation.  "So, my Ridre Dubh, what think you?"

             "What think I?  I think I am thoroughly pissed you just zap me around like some kind of puppet.  So much for your big lecture on free will."

              The Queen reached down, and lifted a small pebble throwing it at the side of his head.  The tiny stone caught him at his temple, and while he braced for its impact, was instead surprised when it felt more like a caress than an assault.  The tiny woman narrowed her eyes, and smiled, looking incredibly alluring and scary at the same time.  "You have much to learn, my Knight.  Things here are not what they seem, and illusion is as powerful as reality."

                "Why am I here?  Wherever here may be."

                 She ignored his question, instead slipping off the rock, and positioning herself across his immobile knees.  "You are quite the enigma, Ridre Dubh.  Surely a contradiction of emotions.  I feel I have struck a most beneficial bargain."  She lowered her lashes, looking at him through them.  "Do you find me desirable , Ridre Dubh?"

                  He knew from his experience with females, Fay or otherwise, hers was a loaded question.  "I would be lying if I said, otherwise, Your Majesty.  You are very beautiful.  In a green sort of way."

                 She looked at him curiously, and pouted.  "You don't care for green?"  With a snap of her fingers, she changed colors, now appearing in shades of daintiest pink.  "Is this more agreeable to you, Knight?"

                 Before he could respond, she shifted her color palette again, this time in shimmering lines of blue and silver, then lilac and gold, and finally returning to the traditional fairy look he had first witnessed before the time travel.  She sighed, and shook her head.  "No, Ridre Dubh, it seems you only have eyes for this."  She shifted again, and he sat staring at the image of his wife, nude except for a green ribbon holding up red curls at the top of his head.  It was an image he had often fantasied painting, and not a vision he intended to share with anyone else.

                 It startled and angered him at the same time.  She was playing with him, a cat with its mouse trapped in a mental corner, tossing his mind back and forth.  He shut his eyes refusing to look, causing her to giggle again at his response.  "So be it, Ridre Dubh.  I will torture you no longer.  Open your eyes and we will talk."

                 He opened them, only to find a large lizard in his lap, albeit one with the Queen's piercing green eyes.  It's long red tongue slithered in and out, and Beckett worked not to flinch at its nearness to his face.  The lizard smiled, showing a row of tiny razor sharp teeth.  "As I have said before, my Black Night, I am in need of your assistance. You will do this for me, and if you succeed, you may return to those you love.  That is...if you still wish to do so when all is said and done."
             

She Who Was All

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved

More Dollhouse Chit Chat...

     So, I have once again added to my dollhouse collection at the generosity of my dear friend and teaching partner.  Donna and I enjoyed a short visit to Shipshawanee, Indiana, a quaint Amish town in the central part of the state, to enjoy the mega flea market and antique mall.

Donna and I at the Flea Market

    During our travels, we came across this wonderful vintage Renwal piece from the mid 1940s, and my dear friend insisted on purchasing it for me as, she explained, an early birthday and Christmas gift.  It is a wonderful find, amazingly in mint condition for a being made of card board 65 years ago.  It came complete with all the pieces.  The teacher's desk and chair, six student desks, and of course, 4 little students.  The original box was also part of the deal.

It is too cute, and being that we are both teachers, especially relevant.

Renwal School House

    Thank you, Miss Donna!  I will always treasure it, and think of your kindness when ever I see it among my collection!

                         

The outside