Mary-Cade Mandus - The Spell Bound

Jessamine

Jessamine hugged her knees…rocked.
He had seen her…so she had shape…substance.
He had heard her…so she was audible.
He had been…very pleasing to look upon.
[did he think the same of her?]
They’d both been shocked…he more than she
for her mother had predicted…
expect…the unexpected.
But still…there had been no way to prepare
or divine…what form
[animal…mineral…vegetable]
this unforeseen thing might take
[or when…time being irrelevant]
and most certainly…she never anticipated
any thing like…him.

A Prince.
He had to be.
His form…face…and manner
were those expounded upon
in the stories…histories…her mother related.
Tall…strong…broad shouldered…
thick hair curving blackly against his neck
[although it should have been blonde…
if the stories were to be believed…but…no matter]
eyes…the blue of just-washed sky
the gaze…clear…straightforward
[a shadow of…old sorrow…recent woe
out of place in the depths]
a mouth…broadly carved for laughter…
[with a dash of stubbornness in the chin…
tempered by kindness…reliance]
that appeared to promise…
deliverance…
once upon a time happiness.

[rising elation ebbed]
His visit had been lamentably brief…
one moment…he was there…
then gone.
No time…no chance…
to say a word…
not even his name.

But she knew…he’d come again.
He must.
He had to.
[the air tingled…prickled with certainty…]
He was the one.

Fortenbrass

Fortenbrass soon was made privy to Torin’s
distracted…befuddled state.
While clearing a field one afternoon
it seemed the mighty horse
had met his match
in the form of a particularly tenacious oak stump.
With Torin shouting encouragement
the stallion…strove against the unyielding roots…
flanks corded…bunched…bracing…pushing…shoving
powerful shoulders straining…tugging…
hooves…fore and aft…gouging…seeking traction
nostrils puffing steam…
determined not to concede
until he’d ripped it from the earth
[and stomped it into kindling].
Abruptly the rallying cheers broke off.
Caught off guard…pulling up short…
limbs…exertion-quivering…flecked with sweat…
peering inquiringly back…through salt-stung eyes
Fortenbrass had been perplexed to see
Torin…a dozen…or more…yards away
gazing toward the distant sunflower fields
head half-cocked…
as though heeding some indistinct call.
Inclining sensitive ears…angling for a hint
the horse picked up
only the normal…natural
rustling…chirruping…whistling
of animals…birds…wind
nothing else…no human voice.

Nonplused
he rattled…shook the traces to gain attention
but was ignored.
Swallowing his dignity…pride
he let forth a whinny…loud…shrill
and was rewarded…relieved
to see Torin…start…look about
as though surprised by his present location
then unhurriedly…retrace his steps.
When no explanation was forthcoming…
[merely a preoccupied apology…absent-minded pat]
the big horse pressed the point…
butting gently…against his shoulder
liquid eyes alight with concern
brimming with questions
that went unacknowledged…unanswered.

Odile

The cat lazed in a puddle of sunlight, amusing itself by swatting languidly at a drifting pigeon feather. With a steady diet of tubby robust mice, fresh vitamin-enriched goat’s milk, snug dry shelter [and companionship] no vestige of its former bedraggled self could be seen, the only exception was the mutilated paw and a noticeable limp when it got overtired. Bored with its game, the feline stretched languorously and settled in for a nap.

Footsteps sounded. In a flash, the cat was on its feet, back arched and fur on edge. In the blink of an eye it was gone.

She made no effort
to mask her presence.
He wasn’t there…
she’d seen him leave…quite some time ago.
Even should he happen in…
no harm…
what right had he to question?
And she…certainly had no intention
of explaining…apologizing to a servant!
Climbing to the loft
she sniffed disdainfully at the humble conditions…
sneered contemptuously at each
meager possession extracted from the
well-worn rucksack.
But the rummaging…prying
fathered nothing.

She began to pace…egged on by irritation
[a…quickly sidestepped…stab of panic].
Derek.
The changes
[in demeanor…mind-set…
physical appearance]
were inescapable.
Inconceivably her spell was being weakened…
diluted…
day by day…hour-by-hour.

And this…vagabond…lackey
was either the origin…or catalyst…
[it was imperative to establish which].
Why she’d allowed him to remain…
not eradicated him…that first night…
was both troubling…and intriguing.

Covert observations had confirmed
the field drew…fascinated…awed him…
but of its true nature…
[of this…she was quite certain]
he was innocent…ignorant.

With black skirt undulating greasily about ankles
she quickly descended the ladder…
crossed the threshing floor…
imperiously departed…
unaware
a pair of perceptive feline eyes gauged…
a canny intellect mulled over
every maneuver…grimace…gesture…
word spoken under breath.

Torin

Almost before his head dented the pillow he crossed over into the Dream [which had become less dreamlike with each repeating]. He had discovered on the last occurrence that alterations and interactions could be made - that he was free to move about and speak. Unfortunately the revelation had come too late for him to act before the Dream had broken.

One thing remained consistent - She never budged, never shifted from the spot where first he’d seen her beside the hearth. But tonight, he was determined to close the gap.

Moving cautiously…purposefully
he approached her.
She didn’t retreat…
nor make a sign
that he should not advance.
Emboldened he sat down
their knees almost touched.
She did not object or recoil.

He told her his name…
waited for a response.
Her rejoinder was an unfaltering gaze.
Undaunted he pressed on:
Who was she?
Had they met and he’d forgotten?
Why was she here; why was he?
What did she mean, “would he save her”?
Save her from whom…from what?
Why him?

No answer.

Sitting there
a hairsbreath away…
at a loss as to what to do…how to proceed
he was amazed to find
that the trepidation he’d felt
at their first…subsequent encounters
had been displaced…inexplicably
by contentment and a feeling of belonging…
in this place…
in her company.

She was the source of this feeling.
Her serenity was comforting.
Her muteness, while frustrating,
compelled and enticed him to talk
and he did so unabashedly…
words tumbling from his lips…
divulging all the thoughts, fears, inadequacies,
doubts he’d never disclosed to Fortenbrass,
nor, if truth be told, to himself.
He unburdened the story of his lost family,
the enigma of their fate.
The responsibility…desolation…guilt he felt
for having been the one to survive.

All the while his tongue recounted…ran on
she sat silent…still.
Yet, her eyes spoke.
Their gaze was bruised by a history unknown…
nameless torment…
but they radiated compassion…
appreciation…understanding.
Her lips shaped a soft sympathetic moue
but never voiced words of their own.
Only…he had learned…
when sensing their sojourn was coming to an end…
the Dream’s connection dissolving…
would her silence, stillness be broken.
Then…and only then…
she would lean toward him…
search his eyes intently…
and ask the question.
The question she always asked.
The question that never changed.
The question he knew not how or what to answer.
"Will you stand firm,
do what must…has to…be done
to save me?"

As though his inability to offer a response
was a cue
the Dream would flatten…pale…fade.
The only remnant…her face.
Like wispy smoke from a dampened fire
wafting on a breeze
it would linger above his bed
as body and mind snapped awake.
From that night on…in his thoughts…heart
she became…Solace…
in name…and significance.