Chapter 7: A Familiar Book and an Unfamiliar Place –
“What do you think of this place so far, in the light of day?” Ian made a right turn onto a narrow road that led up the mountain as soon as they drove out of the small village, turning slightly to her to ask the question.
“I think there are a lot of trees,” she said with a grin, “and I think the people I’ve met so far are physically beautiful but somewhat strange. Yes, beautiful, but strange.”
He didn’t turn back to look at her but he said, “So in other words, you think the people are strange.”
She laughed nervously. “Not in other words, and I did say beautiful, too.”
Ian wanted to tell her that all fairies were beautiful, at least on the outside. The inside was another story. “Am I beautiful?” he turned to flash her a wide smile.
“Not in the least,” she lied. She knew that he knew he was beautiful, so she wouldn’t tell him so.
He tried to bite back another laugh. “Am I strange?”
“Oh, yes,” she answered quickly and — this time — honestly. “You might be the strangest of them all.” He laughed loudly at that. She smiled, too and then to change the subject asked, “How high are we?”
“Well, the town’s at about 3000 feet elevation, and the very top of the mountain is about 4400 feet. I can’t tell you how high we are right now,” he answered.
She continued to look over the side, and then asked, “Has anyone ever driven off the side of the road?” The view out her window showed a gorge so deep that she couldn’t see anything but the tops of the trees and the blue sky.
“Sure, during winter, and at night these roads can be treacherous. However, you’re with me.” She turned to look at him and he continued, “So you’re perfectly safe. No one ever gets hurts with me … unless I want them to, and I usually don’t.”
“What?” she asked confused.
He smiled again and said, “Nevermind. You aren’t afraid of heights, are you, because my house happens to be on the very top of the mountain?”
“I’m not afraid of heights. Water, yes, heights, no.” She turned away from him and looked out the front of the window. He really was very strange sometimes. Strange and beautiful. Those words described him exactly. In her heart she reflected that they described her as well. “My father lives on the top of the mountain, too, if I remember correctly.”
“Yes, his land borders mine. We’re the only ones at the summit.”
“Do many people live up on this mountain?” she asked.
“Sure, there are a few houses on the way up, but most of them are pretty far back, on long driveways, so they’re well hidden,” he expounded.
She continued to look out at the scenery as they went along, the road getting narrower, the trees thinner. “Does this mountain have a name?” She looked over at him expectantly, waiting for the answer.
“Briar Lyn Mountain,” he answered. He slowed down considerably as they made a very tight turn.
“Does the name come from the town, Glenn Briar?” she asked. He merely nodded, as he was paying close attention to the road, which continued to climb upwards. “What do you do when you meet another car coming from the other direction?”
“Pray,” he joked. “You should see these roads in the winter.”
“Yes, I bet this little car does great in the winter,” she said with derision. In truth, she was somewhat nervous, though she felt as if she could trust this man. She looked in the small backseat. “It really is very small, but maybe that’s better on these roads, since it has more room. The only time I’ve ever been on these roads was in the dead of night, and I was usually asleep,” she mentioned offhanded, looking around the small car. She reached for her brush again, but spied the book of fairytales instead. She reached for it. He noticed right away. He was glad that she had seen it.
“What’s this doing here?” she asked, holding the book in her lap.
“I thought you might like to read it,” he said, shrugging. “You said you like reading, and it’s an old book of Irish fairytales. It’s rare, and I dare think it might be the only one in existence, so I can only let you borrow it, not keep it, but I think you’ll like reading it.”
She studied the book and then him. She seemed confused. “No,” she mumbled, moving her head back and forth, her hands holding the leather-bound cover tightly. He glanced at her quizzically.
“NO?” he retorted.
“No,” she repeated, “when I asked what it was doing here, I meant, what is it doing out of my suitcase?”
“Now I’m confused. What do you mean?” he asked. “This book is from my store. I thought you’d like to borrow it,” he lied.
“You mean to tell me this isn’t mine?” From the outside, this book looked exactly like her book.
He looked at her again and frowned. He slowed the car down, pulling to the side of the road, on the narrow shoulder where the road dropped off to the side and shut off the engine. He turned to her, his eyes meeting hers and then dropping to the book. “That book belongs to me. It came from my antique store, though it’s not for sale. It’s quite old, and it’s been in my family for several generations. Supposedly one of my ancestors wrote the thing.”
She moved the book around in her hand, shaking her head slightly.
“This copy was my great-great-grandmother’s book,” he continued to lie. It was, in fact, centuries older than that. “I had it at my store because I’m using it for a reference for the book I’m writing on our people and this place, and, before I left the store, I spied it on the desk, and brought it thinking you might like to read it. It’s the only one in existence, so it’s rare, and you said you like to read,” he explained, watching an array of emotions play across her face. He was trying to feign indifference, but he was pleased that she seemed somewhat interested in the book, though ‘interested’ might not be the correct word; she actually seemed almost upset. She was also under the misrepresentation that the book belonged to her.
If the prophecy came true, someday it would be hers, as his family was only keeping it safe for the return of the true fairy princess.
He took it from her hand, his fingers purposely brushing against hers, thinking that perhaps he could calm her with his touch. She stared up at him as her stomach lurched. He opened the book and said, “See, just a very, very old book, but it has my families’ name on the inside.” It was more than a book of fairytales. It told the history of their people. He was writing an easier to access, newer version, one which anyone might be able to have. This copy, however, had to stay in his family. Someday, if the prophecy came true and the new queen came into being, the book would then belong to her, but until that time, he was considered the protector of the book. He handed it back to her.
She opened the door of the car before he could stop her. She almost slid down the side of the hill in her haste to get to the back of the car, her foot slipping on the dirt and pebbles marking the edge of the narrow road and the plunging landscape below. She caught herself on the door, rushed to the back and insisted, “Open the boot.” He turned to look at her first, but then he opened his car door and followed her to the trunk of the car.
He was curious, so he popped the trunk and watched as she took out the smaller of the two suitcases, opened it, and removed a book that was identical to the one she left in his car. It had been lying on top of her clothing. It was in slightly better condition than the one he had handed her, but, in all other ways, it was identical. Now he was baffled. This simply could not be the same book! There was no way there was ever another copy! He lifted the book from the unzipped suitcase, held it in one hand, pointed it toward her and demanded, “Where did you get this?”
“My mother gave it to me when I was a child. She said that it belonged to her great-grandmother. Your copy can’t be that rare if she had a copy to give me.” She took it from his hand, and started to open it when he snatched it back. He opened it and flipped through the pages. It was the exact same book, with a few exceptions. The first story that was in his book was absent in this one, as was the very last story, but in all other ways, it was the same. It was impossible for her to have a copy! Only one copy was in existence, and, as head of their people, he had the only copy, and it was in the backseat of his car!
This girl didn’t understand at all. The real book was written many, many centuries ago and merely reprinted and rebound only two hundred years ago to resemble a book of fairytales to help protect the true identity of their kind in a world that was losing its ability to believe in magic and all creatures magical. It was really called ‘The Book of Modron’ and it was considered not only their history, but it prophesied their future, and there should only ever be one in existence, as was tradition. The book was to be kept by the ‘Prince of the Clans’ and that was him. Her mother should never have had a copy. He was to keep the book, the only copy, until they found the true ‘Princess of the Clans’.
He grasped the book by the binding and shook it in her face, backing her against the fender of the car. “Tell me where you really got this book! Who gave it to you? What sort of black magic is this?”
“Black magic?” she repeated, confounded. “What are you talking about? It’s a stupid book of children’s fairytales!” She pushed him slightly away from her, because he was so close, so angry, and almost seemed threatening. She felt flustered and exposed on the side of a mountain alone with a man whom she barely knew, and who seemed so irrational regarding a silly book.
He seemed beyond angry, his face red. She watched the muscles in his jaw clench and his eyes narrow. His chest was heaving explosively and he seemed to radiate a darkness, an energy that was profound and which scared her. She had nowhere to go, so she leaned as far as she could against the back of the car.
“Listen, Anna, I don’t believe your mother gave you this book. Someone here gave it to you since you’ve arrived, and I want to know who, right now. You have to tell me!” He closed his eyes slightly, and then opened them slowly.
The anger that was in his eyes was briefly replaced with incredulity when she argued, “You’re being irrational! I’ve only met like five people today, including you! I told you, it was my mother’s book and she gave it to me when I was a little girl. She used to read it to me every night before bed. I have most of the stories memorized, I know it so well.”
He dropped the book inside the opened trunk and grasped her shoulders. Standing in front of her, at his full imposing height of well over six feet, anger surging down his spine, he shook her once and said, “And I told you, I don’t believe you. Someone else gave you this book, someone from this place, someone since you’ve arrived, and I want to know who it was and I want to know now! I just want to protect you!”
She felt genuine fear from him for the first time, though she also knew in her heart that he wouldn’t hurt her. She wondered if the fear she felt was his, or hers, or theirs combined. She knew one thing; she feared the uncertainty of his wrath, and the confusion he was causing inside of her.
“I don’t know why you won’t believe me, but I don’t lie.” She felt her voice hitch before she winced softly, “And if you want to protect me, protect me from you, Ian, because you’re really scaring me right now. Please, stop it.”
She placed her left hand on his chest. She wasn’t even aware she had done so. She did it to calm him, and to calm herself. She couldn’t recall the last time she had felt this much at odds with her own emotions. She felt an array of them all at once … fear, (he wouldn’t hurt her, so what was there to fear?) annoyance, (he called her a liar, and that irritated and angered her), apprehension, (was it a mistake to come with him?), and a raw physical attraction that she had never once felt in her life. Her heart was at war with her head. Her nerve endings were frayed, but on fire. Though on dry land, she felt as if she was drowning. She was alone with this man, in a strange place, and she didn’t know what to do.
She pressed her hand firmer against the hard muscle of his chest. She looked down at his chest, watching the rise and fall of his lurching breaths. Was it due to his anger, or did he perhaps feel even a small fraction of what she felt for him?
The touch of her hand, the whisper of her words, the longing in her eyes, along with the play of light and shadow from the sun through the treetops on her face, that beautiful face, with the gleaming green eyes full of fear and something more … all these things helped him to rein in his anger. If he were ever to show her his true anger, his true form, he really would scare her. Little did she know that fairies could sometimes be as ugly as they were often beautiful. He might even scar her permanently, especially before she knew what they were.
This poor girl had been scarred enough in her life. It was not his intention to hurt or scare her. His head dipped to her shoulder. He took in the scent of her, the essence, the goodness and the light, his face covered in her hair, and was able to harness his fury as he released her shoulders. Clenched fists went to his sides as he backed away slightly. He looked down and noticed that one of her hands still rested on his chest. Her hand was the reason for his composure. She was calming him, just as surely as he calmed her earlier. Did she have the same ability as he? Did they share abilities? Would they someday share so much more?
Putting his hand on top of hers, he removed it from his chest, keeping it in his grasp, bringing both their hands down to their side. “I’m sorry, Little One. I never want to scare you. You just don’t understand. I’m a bit confused. There should only be one copy of this book, you see, that’s how rare it is. One of them must be a forgery, because I know I have the real book.”
She didn’t know what he meant when he said that one must be a forgery. How could a book be a forgery? It was a real book! Then, she understood. “I see, but my book really is an old book. You can look at it and see that, and my mother really did give it to me. She said she inherited it from her great-grandmother, and she wouldn’t have lied, and I’m not lying.” Taking another moment to think, she added, “I see now, since my mother’s family isn’t from here, you’re afraid that your book isn’t as valuable as you thought, now that you know it’s not one of a kind. Is that it?”
He shook his head. She didn’t understand at all. “That’s not it.” He sighed openly. Her mother WAS from here, but her book didn’t make any sense. “Don’t worry about it. Please, just get in the car. It gets dark early in the mountains, and I’d like to get you to my house before we lose the light.” He let go of her hand, stared hard at the book lying on her opened suitcase in the trunk, and slammed the trunk closed. He breathed a ragged, deep breath and walked behind the car and looked down the slope side of the hill. Two more steadying breaths were necessary to calm him down before he was able to think about getting back into the car.
This was a true mystery. This didn’t make sense that she should have a copy of this book. He would have to examine it later, and see if the stories were the same. If they were, at least she knew ‘the history’ of their people. He looked back over at her quickly. She was wandering around the car. He had a feeling that she was debating whether to get back in the car with him. He could tell that she was slightly anxious, although what she was afraid of was another thing.
He opened the driver’s side door. “Anna, please. I didn’t mean to scare you. Get in the car. There’s no reason to be afraid. Let’s go home. ” There actually was reason to fear. He felt it the moment he let go of her hand. There was something, or someone, watching them. He knew it was too much to hope that they could get to his house undetected. As soon as she entered the town, their enemies must have been informed. The hair on the back of his neck stood on edge and Ian knew there was no time to waste. He urged once more, “Get in the car.”
She didn’t like the way he was always ordering her to ‘get in the car’. It was irritating. She also wasn’t so sure that she should no longer be afraid. She was no longer afraid of him, but oddly enough, she felt that he was afraid of something.
“Is something wrong? Are you …” she paused, not wanting to offend, “afraid of something?”
He looked at her with narrow eyes and questioned how she could tell that he felt afraid. This ability of hers to feel his emotions would not do at all. He couldn’t abide it! He tried to shake off all feelings of dread, replacing them with feelings of peace, and he said, “I merely want to get you home before dark. Is that too much to ask? I know you’re tired, as am I.”
She wanted to laugh aloud. How right he was that she was tired, and that she wanted to go home. The want and desire to go anyplace called home was stronger than any feeling she had ever experienced, and he wanted to take her there, but now she wasn’t so certain. Anna walked a bit beyond the car, to stand at the side of the road, facing the slope side. It was clear to her that this man was complex, almost as complex as this place. He scared her, excited her, and caused her heart to ache, and her belly to feel as if it were on fire. She wanted to go with him, but she WAS afraid. Not of him, but of CHANGE, though change was at hand and it was inevitable.
Everything was about to change for her, everything she held dear would change forever. Things that she took for granted would be no more, things that had a certain texture and meaning would soon have another. Things that she held holy, dear, in deep and sweet communion, would soon be nothing more than memories and then they would soon disappear.
It was part of growing up. It was part of discovering her place in the world. It was part of discovering her past and her future, making acquaintance with her present self, giving away one sort of freedom for another.
She wasn’t prepared for any of this. She didn’t know what any of it meant. She looked over her shoulder at Ian as he stood idly by the front of his car. He didn’t beckon for her to return or question why she was wandering away. He seemed devoid of feelings right now, and that scared her more than anything else. Why couldn’t he see that she stood on a great precipice, and she had no choice but to jump off, and face the consequences, whatever they may be? She wanted him to catch her as she fell, yet she had just met the man.
She threw her arms around her, holding herself, willing herself to turn back around to face this man and her future, because she knew that she would make any sacrifice necessary to belong to this place. She knew in her heart and her soul that this was where she belonged. She had amputated herself from her old life, and it was quick and painless, and she had no choice but to go forward with this new life.
The past was gone. There was nothing beyond this moment. No matter what challenges lay ahead, she would face them. Hesitation would not impede her, nor would fear. She longed to cast aside the weariness that had seeped into every pore of her body, laying claim to it for so long, and which continued to try to surface. It would lay dormant no longer. She would remove it as surely as if it were cancer, blight, evilness in her soul. She would be transformed. She would continue with this final road, this commitment, this journey, this peace.
Turning, she looked at him again, and noticed that he held out his hand. Just as he did in the coffee shop earlier, he was beckoning to her, but also offering her an anchor, a link to her new life. No longer void of emotion, and no longer emitting fear, he radiated a perfect peace, which she sorely needed.
She ambled slowly back toward him, her fear abating. Warmth came back into her body, but just as she started to take his hand, she instead left his hand empty and alone, when she noticed movement high in the tall trees above him. She pointed in the air, with the hand that was to take his, and whispered softly, “Ian.” It was all she said. Just, “Ian.”
Ian immediately rushed to her side, before he looked to where she pointed. Then he heard it … an odd cawing radiated from the woods, reverberating eerily on the wind, against the tops of the trees. Another caw, more like a scream, and then another. Birds! Ian looked up and saw at least five or six large birds. She ducked her head, her arms around it, as a multitude of large birds swooped down upon her. He knew right away these were no ordinary birds. Usually, he would welcome the sight of his brethren, especially as her father and brothers could transform themselves into birds, but he knew their form, and they only ever became hawks or falcons. These birds were all black. They were ravens. And they weren’t of their people, or her clan!
One of the black birds disengaged from their aerial assault to swoop down low. He heard himself scream, “Anna, no!” just as he saw her raise her arms to keep the bird from attacking her. He watched her arms flail above her head and suddenly she was gone, falling off the edge of the road and plummeting down the slope side of the mountain. Before he could turn back around to her, she lost her footing, and she was gone, slipping down the side of the hill.
His hand was still in the air, reaching for her, though she was already gone … gone quickly, before he could save her. Something incoherent and faint shivered through his mind and made his blood cold seeing her fall down the side of the hill, because there was a flooded ravine only fifty yards from the road.
She screamed, and her scream echoed and rebounded off the rocks and trees, mixing with the macabre caws of the birds overhead. The traitorous birds continued to swoop down, but Ian would not be distracted. He changed to his other form and sprinted down the side of the hill to keep up with her.
She continued to slide down the muddy hillside, hitting rocks, trees, branches and brambles. She cried out, calling his name. “IAN!”
She reached for a shrub to stop her fall, and the sleeve of her sweater caught in the twisting vine. Her momentum was slowed by the catch of her sleeve, and valuable time was afforded by the snag so that she could reach up and hold onto the precious vine, but then one of the black, large birds swooped toward her and she screamed again, her arm instinctively rising to shield her face from the bird’s talons and she let go of the vine. She rolled under the canopy of the tall, ancient trees, the rugged terrain tearing at her clothing, her body already bruised and bloodied. Right before she rolled off a large rock into a ravine below, she reached once more to hold onto a small tree limb as it jetted out of the crest of a large rock, but it was no use, she fell that last little bit, on her back side, no longer aware of the pain, only the fear, because it was only then that she saw the brown, muddy water rushing over rocks and reeds just a few feet from her.
She slipped over the smooth rock and landed with a splash before she fell deeply into darkness of devastating horror.
She was underwater, though only for a moment. It wasn’t deep, but that didn’t matter. She felt the worst fear of her life as she bobbed to the surface. She screamed louder than she had ever screamed in her life. She called out his name. She called for Ian.
Unknown to her, he had rushed down the hillside along side of her, having shifted into the form of a mountain lion. To the human eye, his transition was quick and seamless. To him, it was second nature, but never easy or without some pain and discomfort.
When he shifted, he could feel his muscles lengthening and stretching tightly over bones that elongated and drew rigid inside his body. He felt the rush of wind flow over skin that morphed into fine, buff color fur. His eyes changed color and shape. His senses became more acute. When he became ‘the beast’ he was always conscious of the man and everything around him, but sometimes he had trouble reining in the more basic animalistic emotions when he shifted to his cat form. He might put her at risk shifting into a dangerous cat in front of her, but he felt he had no choice. He feared he wouldn’t be able to reach her quickly enough if he had stayed a man. Now, staring down at her as a mountain lion from the rock above, he contemplated how he would rescue her without her seeing him in this altered state.