Dark Lord of Kismera: Knights of Kismera (46 page)

Maggie gave him a blank look so he took the brush and showed her how to run it over Pride’s silky hide. “General rule of thumb is to be careful around any horse’s feet and the rear end. Pride won’t hurt you; just watch the proximity of your feet with his. I’ll finish him once I get done putting the food away,” he said and smiled warmly at her. He knew she was still a bit nervous around the horses but hoped Pride would win her over.

Drace made quick work of putting the groceries in the cooler and a box. He came back to survey her work. “Not bad, rookie,” he complimented her. “Thanks.” He bent down to plant a quick kiss on her forehead. He then took the brush and worked on the more difficult spots she was too short to reach or lacked the nerve. She had absolutely refused to do between Pride’s rear legs.

She bent down to stare is disbelief. “Holy Hannah. Those are
huge!
I’m NOT touching those!”

Drace had a hand over his mouth in what he hoped was a thoughtful gesture, trying to appear nonchalant. “You’re not going to brush
those.
Just the inside of his legs,” he corrected.

Maggie stood up straight, walked over to him, and poked him in the chest with the brush as she tilted her head back to glare at him. “I don’t think so, buddy. I like your horse, but not that much. He can just be dirty.”

Drace stood there after taking the brush and holding it for a second and then went to attend to the rest of Pride’s grooming. He managed not to laugh out loud, but Pride turned his head to look at him curiously at Drace’s suppressed snort of amusement.

Drace finished and moved Pride over to tie him to a tree, giving him enough rope to graze or lay down. He then brought Maggie’s bag to her.

“Which tent do you want?” he asked

“I thought I was sharing with Cerise and you had one.”

Drace shook his head. “No, I’ll sleep out here. If it gets cold I have enough blankets. You don’t have to share unless it makes you feel safer.”

Maggie put her hands on her hips. “This is luxurious compared to some of the places I’ve stayed in on a site. Besides, we have you to protect us innocent females.”

Drace tossed her bag to her. “You’re a feisty little thing,” he stated and then went to get camp chairs from the wagon.

Maggie put her bag in one of the tents and saw he had set up a cot and made it with blanket and a pillow.

Cerise was coming out of the other tent as Maggie left hers. Drace was sitting in a chair, elbows on his knees, apparently in deep thought.

“Why did you pick this spot?” Maggie asked.

“This place has always felt special, maybe a bit holy to me, even when I was a kid. I come here when I need peace.” He stood and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his worn Levis. “You might think it’s about the quiet, but it’s not,” he said and stared across the open area. “Listen when you get the chance. Let it fill you.”

Drace walked off to gather wood for a fire without another word, and left Maggie standing in wonder.

Cerise startled her when she spoke her beside her. “He’s always been like that—a little philosophical at times. He listens to things. We once had a Dutch Warmblood stallion—a hateful, mean, ornery horse. Drace was the only one who could really do much with him. He would stand outside that horse’s stall or paddock and just watch him. Not that horse whispering thing you hear about. He just watched and listened. That horse respected him. I don’t think he loved Drace because he didn’t love anyone, but he did respect him. If Drace had ridden that horse at the Trials, he’d have gone on to the Olympics I think, but the horse came along later,” Cerise said.

“I’ve seen Drace angry,” she said. “He gets mad, but he won’t argue with you much. He’ll leave until his temper cools and then work it out. He’s a very deep person.”

“I’ve gathered that,” Maggie said with a sigh.

Cerise put a sisterly arm around Maggie’s trim waist. “And if he loves you, you’ll know it. I think you do know it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Maggie admitted. “But I’m like the horse. I came along too late. So,” she said, sounding defeated. “I’ll do everything I can to help him and keep a few memories for myself. I just wish I could keep in touch with the two of you later. I’d like to know how things turn out.

“Right now, I suppose we should go help Drace gather some firewood,” Maggie suggested and headed in the direction Drace had taken, Cerise at her heels.

They passed Drace as he was returning to camp, his arms full of wood. He gave them a half smile and continued on his way. When they had armfuls of fallen branches they headed back. On the next trip, Drace was dragging a couple of bigger limbs.

Several trips later, the three had a sizable stack and Drace took an axe from the wagon and set to work on the bigger limbs. By the time he finished, he had sweated through his t-shirt.

Cerise and Maggie got out the cooking equipment, and then gathered small sticks and some leaves to start the fire. By the time Drace was putting the axe away, Cerise had a small fire going.

Maggie sniffed. “There’s nothing like the smell of a campfire. Unless you’re using camel dung.”

Drace was wiping his face with the inside of the neck of his shirt and his chuckle sounded from underneath the material. He pulled his shirt in order, rummaged in a duffel bag and came out with a dry long sleeve t-shirt. He came over to stand by the fire.

“In Kismera, people will take a group out with wagons and put the kids to work picking up dry bison beast manure. They fling more at each other then they actually gather, but the kids have a ball. The pies help save wood for heating. I was surprised at how long it burns,” he said.

He pulled his damp shirt off, and laid it over the back of an empty chair then pulled on the dry one. He had taken off his hat before chopping wood and
he ran his hands through his hair, ruffling it up. He caught a whiff of himself and wrinkled his nose. There was a small pond at the edge of the clearing and he decided he’d go there to bathe after the women went to sleep. He looked up to check the location of the sun:
A couple of hours until sunset, he estimated.

His stomach growled, “So what gourmet meal have you gals planned for dinner?

Cerise grinned at him. “Pork steak and baked potatoes,” she said. “I just need the fire to be going long enough to make some coals.”

Drace leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, locking his hands together over his flat stomach. “Mmmm, sounds good.”

“Do you need to go back to feed your other horses?” Maggie asked, relaxing in her own chair.

“No,” Drace answered, not opening his eyes. “I hired Tony, one of Lorrie’s grooms, to take care of things while we’re gone. If there is an emergency, he knows where to find us.”

“Where do you have your bathroom facilities?” she asked him next.

Drace opened his eyes and pointed behind the tents. “We have one of those camp toilets and I put it behind a blanket back there. There is also a bucket with water and some soap to wash up with.”

“Man, this guy knows how to camp,” Maggie said to Cerise, rising to her feet. “Excuse me for a bit.”

She disappeared behind the tents, leaving Cerise and Drace to enjoy the crackling fire.

Cerise got up to start wrapping potatoes in aluminum foil. She noted that Drace had his eyes closed again. “You look tired,” she commented.

“A bit,” he admitted. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I guess I’m a bit antsy.” He actually felt he should be armed but he wasn’t sure why. The only wild animals he had seen out here were deer and rabbits and the like. He had seen fox too, but they were shy and would stay away.

His sword was with his gear.
I’ll get it after I feed the horses.
With a groan, he stood and stretched, his spine popping pleasurably.

Maggie came back, looking a bit relieved.

“Think you can lead Pride to the pond for a drink after he eats?” Drace asked her.

Maggie gave him an apprehensive look.
Suck it up Shaffer. You can do it,
she thought.
Make Drace proud of you.
“Sure. Just show me what to do.”

Drace fed the horses and while they were finishing, he strapped on his sword belt. He immediately felt more at ease.

Maggie came over to take Pride as Drace untied him. “Stay on his left next to his head. He won’t pull you,” Drace instructed. He put a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. He saw the fear there and her internal battle to control it. “Just follow me, but not too close. Pride might decide to bite Mitch if you do. You’ll be fine. Ready?”

Maggie took the lead rope as Drace had shown her and waited for him to get Mitch. They took the horses over to the small pond. Maggie followed Drace’s example by loosening the rope, allowing Pride to lower his head to drink. When Pride finished, he moved his head to rub gently on Maggie’s shoulder, dribbling water down her sleeve.

“Pride, you pig. Jeez!” she complained but rubbed his face gently any way. He blew softly against her cheek, making her laugh.

They took the horses back. Drace tied them to their trees, put blankets on each of them, and tied hay nets at a safe height, but in reach. Maggie watched, impressed.

After the three people had eaten and cleaned up, Maggie retrieved her coat from her tent along with a flashlight she tucked into a back pocket. “We should start now, I think,” she said and looked out into the growing darkness. “I’ll stay awake as long as I can and get one of you.”

Drace volunteered to be next. “I don’t think I can sleep much anyway,” he said. “How exactly should we pray anyway?”

Maggie was lost in thought but turned at his question. “I don’t have enough information on any rituals. I would think you pray to Arahtok the way you would pray to your god. You do what feels right in your heart.”

She gave Drace a sad smile and moved off into the trees for solitude.

DRACE WOKE WITH A START from a restless sleep when Maggie placed a hand on his arm. He had brought his hunting plaid and was wrapped up in the wool. He was very warm as he lay close to the fire.

“What time is it?” he asked with a yawn, pushing his hair out of his face.

Maggie turned her watch to catch firelight. “About two-thirty. I’m pooped.”

Drace stood, retrieved his sword belt from his bed where he stashed it, stretched, and then strapped it on.

Maggie rose on tiptoe and pulled Drace’s head down to plant a warm kiss on his lips. She released her hold and looked into his surprised eyes. “I listened to the quiet and you were right, it was incredible,” she whispered to him.

She had taken up a spot under a large maple, and once she had settled in, she listened. What she had once considered quiet compared to the noise of the city became a peaceful symphony of sound. The yellow and brown leaves of the tree over her head sighed and rustled in the slight breeze. Some bird called to another, and crickets chirped. Somewhere deeper in the trees; an owl hooted. She had heard a pop as a log settled on their campfire. There was a disturbance in the fallen leaves as some small animal made its way through the woods. God, or gods, could be here as easily as any church. She had lowered her head and prayed thanks for the insight.

“Goodnight, Drace,” she said, with a smile.

Drace ran a big hand gently over the back of her head, smoothing her flaming hair. He kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, Maggie. Sleep well.”

He watched her until she disappeared into her tent, and then gathered up supplies for a quick bath in the pond. Once finished, he went to his favorite spot in the timber to keep vigil and try to reach the god, Arahtok.

“M
acKinnon,” came a whispery voice. Drace was awake but felt like he was hearing it in a dream. He turned to find the source. It was a male voice so he knew it wasn’t one of the women looking for him.

“MacKinnon,” came the voice again and this time Drace caught the soft Scottish accent. “Clansman.”

Drace moved away from the tree where he had been leaning. He
adjusted the plaid wrapped around him to free access to his sword.

“Who is there?’ he called quietly, moving his hand to the sword’s hilt, his eyes searching through the dim light of a full moon.

A form became visible, coming through the trees. “Rest easy, kinsman, for I ken ya lad.”

A man stopped several feet away but Drace could see him clearly. The man was tall, maybe six feet and broad shouldered. He was dressed in a kilt and plaid that matched the one draped around Drace. The shirt underneath was a hand-woven linen one that laced at the throat. Tall boots that had seen much wear covered his feet. “I see tha’ ye ken me as well.”

“I do know you. I saw you at Culloden, on the moor. It was almost like looking into a mirror.”

Drace caught the soft sound of laughter and goose bumps pimpled his skin. “Aye lad, I saw ye there. It gave me a fair start to see you. But ye gave me something wonderful at that moment.”

“What was that?” Drace asked, not believing he was having a conversation with a man who had been a ghost for over two hundred and fifty years. However bazaar the situation, Drace relaxed and loosened his grip on the hilt of his sword.

The Scot walked a few feet, his kilt swaying with his movements. “Seeing ye there gave me the comfort of knowing me wife and son made it to safety and me blood survived.

Drace made the generational connection. “So…I am your many times great grandson?” he asked.

“Aye. And a right braw lad ye turned out to be. Your father would be fair proud of ye.”

“My parents are dead,” Drace said.

“That’s too bad,” the ghost Scot said, coming to stand a bit closer.

Drace could feel a coldness in the air that surrounded the man but felt no danger to himself, just curiosity. “How did you find me and come here?” he asked.

“I believe I was called here, either by you or the Almighty. I do na ken the how or even the why. Perhaps it wasna even for you lad but for me. Maybe it is time I can finally rest and be at peace.”

“What is your name?” Drace asked.

“Brann,” the ghost said.

Drace raised an eyebrow.

The ghost spelled it for him. “It is an old Celtic name. How are ye called?”

“Drace.” He studied his relation, taking in the wind-mussed hair escaping its queue and the worn tartan.
Perhaps I’m losing my mind,
he thought briefly.

“A powerful name, that,” Brann replied. “If I remember my Latin—it comes from ‘draco’, which means ‘dragon’.” Brann gave Drace a long steady stare. “Ye have been blooded, have ye not? Ye know the sorrow that goes with fighting along with the bloodlust?”

Drace hung his head, disconcerted. “Yes.”

“Do not be ashamed. That is what makes the difference between a warrior and a killer. A murderer does no feel remorse.”

Brann tilted his head and looked up at the sky through the trees. He stood that way for a moment as if thinking or listening. Finally, he returned his gaze to Drace, his blue eyes almost black with the darkness. “Ye look for someone…, a way to your woman, I think. Tell me of this.”

Drace was surprised at Brann’s intuitiveness. “You would not believe the story.”

“First, my lad, ye are standing here talking to the shade of your many times great-grandsire. If ye can believe that, why can I not believe any tale of yours? Besides, I have nothing but time.”

Drace snorted. “True. It will be dawn soon. I may not have time for the whole story before morning. Can you stay?’

“No, me boy. With the sun I mon go. But by the Lord’s grace, I might be granted the chance to come on the morrow.”

The big warrior moved to a fallen tree and sat on a length of its trunk. He placed his hands on his kilt covered knees. With a nod of his head, he said, “Get ye on with it.”

Drace gave him a condensed version of his tale since there was much from his time he knew Brann would not comprehend. When he finished, he sensed Brann had several questions but the sun was beginning to make an appearance. “I wish you could stay. I could use your guidance,” he said.

“Aye, I too, but ye do na need my guidance. I’m na more than a warrior and a farmer. All I can offer ye would be what I ken in my man’s heart.” He stood abruptly. “I mon go, lad. I pray ye keep yerself well. Look for me tonight. I will pray to be with ye again.” Brann smiled at Drace, and then turned and headed through the trees. There was a flash of swinging kilt, and then he was gone.

Drace stared after him, his knees threatening to buckle. He sank down and knelt in the soft loam of the forest floor. He ran his hands through his hair several times and took a deep breath, thinking.
I will keep Brann’s visit to myself for now.
He knew the women would believe him; he just didn’t want to share the memory yet.

He gathered himself together, rose, and went to sit on the trunk. His thoughts turned inward, as he thanked both God and Arahtok for those moments with his kinsman.

Drace took his place earlier the next night, eager for a chance to talk with Brann once more. He had wolfed down his dinner after tending the horses and then vanished into the trees, leaving Cerise and Maggie staring after him. He tried to concentrate on the reason he was there, but his thoughts kept turning to his ancestor.

A ripple in the quiet of the woods allowed Drace the opportunity to sense Brann’s arrival. He gave Brann a respectful nod of his head. “Grandfather,” he greeted.

“Drace, me lad, good evenin’,” Brann returned with his thick Highland burr. He came within an arms length of Drace. “I wish with all my heart I could hold ye to me breast, lad. To feel the blood of me blood, but that I canna do, to me deepest regret. It would end my time here, I think. Grandfather,” Brann mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I ken ye mean me respect, but to stand here and look ye eye to eye and see ye of similar age. ’Tis an odd feeling, to be sure.” He laughed at the thought.

Drace smiled in agreement.

“Come walk with me. I have questions for ye on your tale.” Brann began to walk away, hands clasped behind his back.

Drace caught up with him in a couple of long strides. The Highlander began asking questions and Drace answered in kind. Drace noticed as they walked through the dark woods that as Brann passed, none of the greenery moved.
I wish I could move that way,
he thought as low limbs slapped at his legs and arms.
But then I’d have to be a ghost.
The two walked in silence for a while.

“I have thought on this lass of yours and how to get back to her,” Brann said. “I remember me ma’am telling of the old ways, the old beliefs; stories passed down to her from many generations past. Sometimes a sacrifice was made to the Old Ones, the gods that were revered before Christianity came to us. Blood was usually given, either by a sacrifice or from oneself.”

“A suicide?” Drace gasped, shocked.

“Nay, no a suicide. A cut, a letting of that persons own blood; a self-sacrifice I guess ye could say,” Brann replied.

When they stopped, Drace realized they had taken a big circle and they were back at their original spot.

“I do na ken if this helps ye. I hope ye do na have that much despair in your quest, but I ken I would ha done whatever I could to get me own lass back if it were possible.”

Drace sat on the log. “What was her name?”

Brann remained standing and looked at Drace, his eyes soft with remembered love. “Moira. She was me sunshine, my life. I think ye feel for your woman as I still feel for Moira even though she has been gone all these many years.”

Drace nodded. “Yes, I do,” he answered hoarsely.

“I hope I have brought ye something to be of use to ye, lad.” Brann said and turned, taking a step away as he looked up through the canopy of the trees. He paused as if listening for a moment. “I do na know why, but I have been freed from this world. I willna have to walk the bloody moor of Culloden anymore. I will get to see me Moira again, and me son, Micheil,” Brann said over his shoulder, his voice husky with emotion.

He turned back to Drace. He looked eager to go, but reluctant too. “I hate to leave ye for ye are a fine lad, but I will be sure to let Micheil know how weel ye have done, if I can. I do na ken if I may see ye again.” Brann spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “This be goodbye, me boy, but know ye’ll always be in me heart.”

“I feel the same,” Drace admitted. “I’ll think of you often. I hope I make you and your son proud as time goes by.”

“There is something I would do then I will be gone from here. I would touch ye, lad. Do no be afeared.”

“I won’t be. I would welcome it. Brann?”

“Aye?”

“Thank you for…everything,” Drace said with emotion, already feeling his kinsman’s loss.

Brann moved a step forward, took his hand, and laid it gently on Drace’s cheek. There was no warmth in the touch; actually it was quite cold, but Drace regretted when Brann removed his hand.

“All will be weel, lad—have faith,” Drace heard in his head; then he was alone.