Chapter Fifteen
The moon, hanging full and bright above the far horizon, had thrown a silver path across the tidal waters of the môr-afon. The opposite shore appeared as a thin, black line, punctuated here and there by a faint, yellow light. A torch, perhaps. Or a campfire. Evidence of human occupation.
Even after thirteen centuries, the air smelled the same. Salt, estuary mud, and wood smoke, the damp, earthy scent of the forest. Turi’s spine tingled with the familiarity of it. It was a torture both painful and sweet.
Cristen, her back to Turi, stood in silence on the river bank, staring out across the wide expanse. A soft breeze played with her skirts, rippling the fabric as it did the water. In the moonlight, her silhouette appeared black, and she was hugging herself.
Behind them, in gnarled columns of light and dark, stood a bastion of nature. Descendant trees of an ancient deciduous forest, where Turi’s people had once lived. He had chosen this place purposely to tell Cristen the truth about who he was. It seemed fitting, somehow, although it had meant taking a detour from their set path, and had cost them a day of travel. For Turi, though, it was a nostalgic visit, one Gilbert fully understood.
They had found a nearby inn and secured their accommodations. Then Turi and Cristen had left Gilbert feasting on roasted chicken, and ridden out along the river.
As the sun had set, the moon had risen. Turi tethered Samson to a nearby sapling, spread a blanket on the grass, and proceeded to tell Cristen his story.
Thus far, unfortunately, it had not gone well.
Indeed, Turi doubted the lass was even aware of the nocturnal splendor surrounding them. Her sight, he suspected, was turned inward, questioning and doubting what she had heard. Her faith in him, he knew, had taken a hard hit.
His announcement that he’d been born in a village not two miles from where they sat had been met with a smile of genuine interest. The subsequent declaration that his birth had occurred approximately twenty-two years after the death of Jesus Christ had been met with a reaction of a different nature. Cristen’s brief expression of incredulity had been followed by one of mild amusement.
Of course, she didn’t believe him.
For a little while, she’d continued to stare at him, her expression one of anticipation. Then her smile faded to a frown as she waited for him to speak further. She expected him, no doubt, to counter his absurd statement with an amended one that made sense. But Turi had remained silent, his expression serious, gaze unwavering.
Due to the subdued light, he wasn’t certain what he’d seen flaring in her eyes. Anger? Disappointment? Certainly not acceptance. Whatever the emotion, it had pushed her to her feet and made her step away from him. A stretched period of silence had followed and still continued.
Heaving a sigh, Turi rose and approached, halting an arm span from where she stood.
“My people called themselves the Setantii,” he said, his voice steady. “We were one of many tribes. To the south of us were the Gangani and the Coritani. To the north and east, the mighty Brigantes. And so many more – too many to name. We occupied all the corners of this isle as well as Éire. We traded with each other. Fought with each other. We were fierce. Wild. Passionate. We served many gods, both male and female.” He paused and gazed up at the stars. “I am bastard-born. My mother’s name was Arianwen. I never knew her. She died birthing me. My father’s name is Pendaran. He yet lives. He is a god among men. An immortal. But I already told you that.”
As he spoke, Cristen’s tense posture tightened further. When he finished his telling, she let out a short, bitter laugh and shook her head. “Does it amuse you, Turi? To mock me?”
Turi parted with another sigh and moved closer. “I do not mock you, aderyn bach.”
“In that case, I beg your pardon,” she said, without turning. “I must have been mistaken in my impression. Likely due to the improbability of what you would have me believe. Please, carry on with your remarkable tale. What were you saying? Ah, yes. You’re the illegitimate son of an immortal father. A god, no less! And you were born … let me see, that would be, um, thirteen centuries ago. So, you have obviously inherited your father’s immortality. Have I got it right so far?”
“Not quite,” he replied. “My immortality is not inherited. In fact, it is about to end.”
“About to end? Oh, I see.” Sarcasm and sadness edged her voice as she turned to him at last. Only the sadness showed in her eyes. “And what happens then, pray tell? Will you ascend to some unearthly realm? Or… or change into something else? A unicorn, maybe. Or a dragon.”
He sighed again. “I will simply become mortal. I will continue to age. I will have no defense against sickness or infection. And I will bleed like other men.”
A frown flitted across her face. “Bleed.”
“Aye.”
She huffed. “Are you saying you don’t bleed now?”
“Nay.” He grimaced. “I mean, aye. That is what I’m saying.”
Another bitter laugh tripped off her tongue and a tear cascaded down her cheek. “Why are you doing this, Turi? Is it a test? Some kind of trial? One meant to challenge my faith in you?”
He shook his head. “Nay, my love, ’tis no test. A trial, aye, and a difficult one for both of us, I can assure you. Since you refuse to believe what I say, I will have to show you.” He rolled up his shirt sleeve and unsheathed the dagger at his belt.
Cristen sucked in a breath. “What are you doing?”
“Watch,” he replied. “Trust me. And don’t be afraid.”
Cristen’s eyes widened, but before she had a chance to speak further, Turi slanted the blade across his forearm and scored a deep, dark cut into the flesh. A moment later, without a drop of blood spilled, the cleaved flesh reunited, leaving only a thin, shadowed line.
Cristen’s hands flew to her mouth, capturing her squeal. Still staring at the healed wound, she shook her head. “Sweet Mother of God. What unearthly magic is this?”
“Touch it.” Turi took hold of her wrist and guided her fingers to the new scar. “Feel it. Now tell me you believe me, my lady. I need to hear you say it, for I cannot bear to see distrust in your eyes when you look at me.”
She shook her head. “It defies belief, Turi.”
“Did you not see it? Did your eyes deceive you?” He rested the blade on his arm once more. “I can show you again, if you wish.”
“Nay!” She placed a hand on his, where it grasped the dagger. “Please. No more. I believe you, Turi. But, by God and all His saints, I cannot begin to understand it to save my soul. Not any of it.”
“Then allow me to explain,” he said, “but there must be no more doubt. No more accusations of mockery or trials. Your reaction is understandable, and precisely why I hesitate to tell you anything. Before I continue, I must remind you of your vow of faith in me, for there is yet much you have to learn.”
Dismay evident on her face, Cristen gazed at him. “Oh, Turi. I’m so ashamed,” she whispered, shaking her head. “After all I said and all I promised, I have failed you. Please forgive me.”
“Nay, hush.” Turi bent and kissed her. “The truth of who I am is not an easy thing for a mortal to accept.”
Cristen inhaled, squared her shoulders, and looked about. “The Setantii, you say?”
“Aye.” Turi watched her, amused by the sudden, determined set of her jaw. “Till the Romans came, all the land along this western shore was ours, from what is now Chester to as far north as Lancaster, and east to Sheffield. None of those places existed then, of course.”
“But this area here is where you grew up?”
He nodded. “I used to fish off these banks and hunt deer in these woods. It was on such a hunt when I first met Nareen.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Just over there, in a forest clearing.”
“Oh!” Cristen blinked. “Nareen was a woman in your tribe? I thought you’d met her recently.”
He shook his head. “Nareen has been dead for almost thirteen centuries.”
A shudder ran through her and into him. “Yet the memory of what she did still haunts you?”
“Nareen’s betrayal led to the deaths of eleven women and fifteen children in my village, but the blame for their deaths is entirely mine. She told me she was an escaped slave on the run from Roman persecution. I believed her and took her back to my village, ignoring the condemnation of those who doubted her story. They were right. I was wrong. Nareen was no slave, but a Roman scout. I awoke one night to find her gone from my bed. We were attacked by a Roman patrol that same night and I knew, even before the first blood had been drawn, that Nareen had led them to us. I remember everything about it. Everything. As if it happened yesterday. But there’s a reason for that.” Turi gave Cristen a critical glance. Moonlight accentuated her ghostlike pallor and the shadows beneath her eyes. The lass had been through much in the last fortnight. The wound in her side continued to heal well, but Turi knew the weight of recent turmoil and persistent grief pressed on her mind and heart constantly. “Are you tired, little bird? We can continue this back at the inn if you wish. Or on the morrow.”
Again, she looked about. “Nay. I think it fitting that I learn about you here, surrounded by the ghosts of your past. But I’m cold, Turi. Can we make use of the blanket?”
Turi smiled. “Come.”
*
Gazing up at the stars, Cristen lay still and listened to Turi’s voice. The tale he continued to unravel defied belief. It went against all she knew and understood. Her faith. Her convictions. All she had ever held true. As he spoke of his life, her own view of life changed. Things were not as they seemed. Ever.
“Thirteen centuries,” she murmured as he paused. “My God, Turi. You have been a witness to history. All you must have seen.”
“I have seen much, aye,” he said, “and I have also forgotten much. My memory is not finite and my mind was under a constant onslaught.”
“It was – is – a harsh punishment.” She shifted against him, wincing a little. The wound in her side still pained her some. “To be so burdened for so long.”
“It has not been without some benefits. I have seen most of the known world and speak several languages.” He gave her a slight squeeze. “Arabic being one of them.”
“And you’ve never seen your father since that night?”
“Nay. At least, not that I’m aware of. He said he’d be watching me so I must believe he has done so.” He drew a slow breath. “There have been occasions when I thought I sensed a presence. Usually when I’ve been in the depths of despair and cursing the world. But it might have been my imagination.”
A question had been dancing around Cristen’s mind for a while and she dared to voice it. “And what of…?” She grimaced and clutched at his shirt. “Mmm, never mind. I’m not sure I should ask such things of you.”
Turi moved his head to look at her. “Ask me anything you like, Cristen. I have naught to hide. I’ll not lie to you.”
“Well… I’m curious about the women you’ve known,” she said, feeling a flush of heat rising in her cheeks. “Lovers and wives. There must have been many.”
“Ah.” Turi sighed and shifted slightly. “Lovers, aye, I have had many. Wives, none.”
Cristen gave a soft gasp. “You never married?”
“Nay, it would not have been wise,” he replied. “Time would have eventually revealed my secret. I rarely had a relationship that lasted more than two or three years.”
“Of course. I should have realized that.” Cristen frowned. “You must have broken many hearts. You must have also suffered the pain of many losses.”
“I won’t deny it, but it became part of my existence,” he said, “a risk I chose to take.”
“And what of children?”
Turi remained quiet for a moment. “None of my lovers ever got with child. Whether due to my immortality, I cannot say. I suppose, once my mortality returns, I’ll find out.” His hold on her tightened. “We will find out.”
“It will make no difference,” she said, pressing a kiss to his throat. “I’ll love you anyway. I cannot imagine my life without you.”
“Fy aderyn bach,” he murmured. “You have not yet heard your story. You play a part in all this.”
“My story?”
“Aye,” he replied, nuzzling her hair. “I’ve been saving the best for last.”
They rode back to the inn in the latter part of the night, when the sky could not be blacker or the stars brighter. The moon had already moved across the heavens and the first bird sang his song from the treetops.
“A nightingale,” Turi said.
“It’s beautiful,” Cristen replied. “I don’t recall ever hearing one before.”
Turi murmured something in his language and rested his cheek against her hair. He had told her the rest of his story, and it contained a revelation she could never have foreseen.
It seemed she possessed a magic of her own, and had not understood the depth of its influence. It went beyond a simple measure of comfort and companionship. She had the ability to quell the endless torment of a man who had lived for thirteen centuries. Unknowingly, she granted him peace of mind. Vanquished the pain of his guilt and remorse. Halted his nightmares. And all with a single touch. No other mortal, man or woman, had done for him what she had.
But learning of her ability had given rise to a bothersome question. One that begged to be asked, although she had not yet dared to voice it. Fidgeting, she silently cursed her self-doubt. Turi loved and protected her as no man ever had. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if his dedication was – or had been – conditional on her ability.
“We are together now,” Turi said, startling her, “and that is all that matters. The past cannot be changed. To dwell on it, then, serves no purpose.”
Cristen twisted her head to look up at him and her heart skipped a beat. Sweet Heaven, he was handsome beyond words. By the bluish light of the moon, his face appeared to be sculpted from burnished steel. He looked like the immortal he was.
“I don’t recall you mentioning that you read minds, Turi.”
A smiled curved his mouth. “Only yours, it seems.”
“Is that so? Then what am I thinking?”
“I suspect you are questioning your worth to me.”
His insight made her heart skip a beat. “Why would I do that?”
A remnant of the smile remained as he assumed a puzzled expression. “I cannot say for certain. Men have forever been mystified by the workings of the female mind. But perhaps an epilogue to my story will settle your foolish doubts once and for all.” He cleared his throat. “Are you paying close attention, little bird?”
“I am,” she said, smiling.
“Good. So, in summation, I have come to believe we were destined to meet, you and I. As soon as you walked into the inn that first night, I felt a connection of sorts. The mystery of you intrigued me. When I realized you were in danger, I went to your aid instinctively. Nothing else mattered. I knew I had to save you. Protect you. I have also come to believe that your blessed ability to soothe me has naught to do with my inherent anguish or my immortality. Had I been as other men, I would still have responded to the sweetness of your touch. I guarantee, when my mortality returns, you will still have the same effect on me. Does that answer your question?”
Tears blurring her eyes, Cristen nodded and looked down at Turi’s hand, where it clutched the reins. She traced her fingertips across the back of it and heard his slow intake of breath.
“That is all it takes,” he said. “A simple touch and I am lost. I love you, Cristen. More than my life.”