The 13th Descent: Book One of The Rosefire Trilogy (19 page)

Wanting to lay here longer, to spend more quiet time revisiting that
unassuming life and the people in it, the lack of sunlight dimming my bedroom and the balmy afternoon breeze turned cool alerts me to the time: my phone confirming that I’ve only got a half an hour to get down to the Heart rooms for dinner.

I run for
my en suite bathroom and shower and shave my legs in record time, twist my towel-dried hair up into a loose bun, throw on my pretty buttercream summer dress, my red ballet flats, some tinted moisturiser, some mascara and some lip gloss and sprint out the door, down the hallway to the curved staircase, descending two stairs at a time, then skidding across the tiled floor of the entrance hall towards the West corner, shimmying around Tallulah’s fountain disappearing behind the sand stone wall at her back, and running the length of another long hallway straight into the heart of the Castle, aptly named the Heart rooms: the first rooms Mike built all of those lifetimes ago when he was named Prince Michael of Avalon. These central chambers were once a fully functioning ancient residence, but since the days when my uncle was King of these lands, it has been where most of our family meals are prepared and eaten.

I burst into the dining room where, I am reliev
ed to see, no one is sitting. But when I think on it for a second, I come to the panicky conclusion that dinner might have been cancelled because something very bad has happened: the last time being when we received word that Hitler was bombing London. But, when putting the melodrama aside, I realise it could be as simple as me getting my times mucked up.

I stick my head around
the corner into the adjoining lounge room to see that no-one is in there either, but then my nose catches on to one of my all-time favourite smells, one that has always reminded me of home, infectious laughter and light hearted disagreements with loved ones from all over: from past and present, near and far, mortal and immortal, with the added bonus of a full belly and a restful night’s sleep.

Following the
sweet and savoury lure of lamb, garlic, and rosemary roasting, I am soon standing in the entrance to the kitchen where I find Mum, my great aunt, Rydia, and my cousins, Roxanne and her twin brother, Malakai, chatting and stirring, chuckling and cooking.

“There she is!” Malakai calls out, dro
pping the potato he was peeling to stride over and say hello. The last time I saw this smiley, potbellied Irishman was when he came to Sky High for Mum and Nanna’s funeral. Partially turning out of our embrace, he asks my mum, “Still as smart as she is pretty?”

“Depends on the day,” she
answers, winking in my direction.

“Could do with some more pepper,” I say, reaching and mussing up his now seventy-thirty ratio of grey-black locks.

“Cheeky bugger,” he grumbles, smoothing back his hair.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, walking over to greet
Aunt Rydia and Rox.

Mid-hug, Rox cheekily asks me,
“So, you seen Josh then?” in her broad highland accent I could listen to all day.

“You could say that,” I answer.

“And…?”

“Leave the poor girl alone!” Aunt Rydia scolds her forty-something daughter. The old girl may be looking frail,
but her voice definitely doesn’t sound it. “This is not like that show you’re always watching…what is that show she’s always watching, Mal?”

“The Batchelor,” Malakai answers, rolling his eyes.

“And I’m sure Barty’s none too impressed about his wife ogling those young, rich, good looking sorts either…”

They continue to natter on, and I feel li
ke not day has passed since I last saw them. Quality over quantity, I think of Georgie Pa saying. I miss him so much, the pangs are near painful.

Waiting for a pause in Rox’s
double-dutch defence, I see my moment, and jump in and ask, “So, am I early then?”

“Early for what?” Malakai asks.

“Dinner.”

“No. Dinner is at seven.”

“But, I was told to be down here at six.”

“Dinner doesn’t cook itself
, you know,” Aunt Rydia gruffly points out.

“Which means you’re
already running behind,” Rox says, dropping three butternut pumpkins in my lap, “so you’d better get cracking.”

Thre
e pumpkins. Based on their rather-have-too-much-than-not-enough rule, that’d be three pieces each, so I guesstimate that ten people are sitting down for tonight’s dinner.

Mum, Josh, Aunt Rydia, Rox, Mal, me… “Who else are we expecting for dinner?” I ask.

As Mum unthinkingly strings the beans, she answers, “Josh, Teddy,” I nod, remembering that Teddy was travelling with Josh and that the rest of the guys are coming later, “Zach-”

“
Zach?” I rudely bark, and she frowns her disapproval at me. “I thought he was coming on a later flight with the rest of the band?”

“So did we, but he arrived shortly after Josh and Teddy did,” Mum says with a small shrug. “And Romey, Craig and Chip,” she add
s as a warm smile spreads across her face.

“Aunt Romey, Uncl
e Craig,
and
Chip?!” I squeal in happy surprise, jumping to a stand. “How did they arrange to get here so quick?”

“You know your aunt and her w
ily ways,” Mum says, eyebrows raised. I roll my eyes -
wily
is not a word I would use to describe Aunt Romey - resourceful, efficient, stringent, anal maybe… “You know how she always overestimates how long things are going to take, how much things are going to cost,” rolling her hand motioning etcetera, etcetera, “so there are no surprises.”

“When did they get here?”

“About an hour ago. They’re up in their room.”

“Have you spoken to them?” I
anxiously ask.

“Yes, I have. Georgie Pa is still behind closed
doors and he is being closely monitored,” she says, already answering my next question. 

“Is he OK?”

“He is…as expected,” Mum answers, trying to hide her grimace which confirms what I suspected: that he is smack bang in the middle of detox hell. Seeing my eyes fill with helplessness and sorrow, she stands, hugs me and whispers in my ear, “What would Nanna say right now?” Answering her own riddle, she says, “Understand that the pain is evitable, and that the only way to get past it is to go through it.”

Mum
is right. That is exactly what Nanna would say. With Chip being the only one of their trio I have direct access to, I desperately want to see him so I can hold him, Nanna and Georgie Pa close. “Can I go up and see them?” I ask.

“Let them get settled, Ren. You’ll see them at dinner,” she says, cupping my
wet cheek in her hand and placing an understanding kiss on my forehead. I go to speak, but she beats me to it. “Yes, and Chip too.”

Thinking
of our other dear furry friend, I eagerly put the question to everyone, “What about Benni Dhoo?”

“He has gone to be with his clan. We’ll see him at
Clearing like we will everyone else,” Aunt Rydia says nonchalantly.

I’m sure I’m not the only one chomping at the bit to find out how
the father/son reunion is coming along. And I hope Josh is up to dealing with tonight’s inquisition all on his own.

xxXxx

For starters, Bruschetta, one of my all-time favourites: crusty bread topped with the vine ripened tomatoes drizzled with the most virgin of olive oils and sprinklings of the sweetest basil. For main, roast lamb with all of the trimmings. For dessert, an apple pie filled with Granny Smith’s from the Orchard with the option of dollop of double-cream and/or a scoop of vanilla bean ice-cream followed by a selection of local cheeses and dried fruits, all washed down with one or multiple glasses of either the house Sauvignon Blanc or Cabernet Merlot, Aunt Rydia’s homemade lemonade or raspberry cordial, or some chilled spring water from the brook: every ingredient gracing our table was either born, reared, churned, planted, grown and harvested here on the Apple Isle. 

Josh is seated across from me, but t
he entire meal we end up talking to everyone else but each other. Through the excited familial buzz and hum even the candlelight can’t soften, we touch base every now and then through a warm knowing smile that we both soon realise will have to be enough to hold us for the time being.

Watching Josh
progressively relax into his surroundings as the memories of each person he interacts with rises, hovers and falls into place makes me feel even more at home. The light flickering brighter behind those silvery blue eyes as each connection is unearthed is mesmerising and divinely beautiful in a way I can’t recall seeing before. Is it bewilderment? Awe, maybe? The more I watch him, the more I think it’s both.

After a long sleep
, the Joshua of the past is waking up in a changed world, wholeheartedly welcomed by the love he has always known, but with an embrace, a kiss, a handshake that has transformed over the millennia, introducing him to an unfamiliar world that seems to both scare and excite him.

However, seeing
him with Teddy, the only one of us sitting at this table he felt at home with before coming here, shows me that in both of Josh’s earthly lives, he has had his best mate by his side and watching his back as he steps out into the spotlight as our front man. That, and Teddy has proven to be the same Thaddeus who used to relentlessly annoy me in Temple classes; his way of greeting me for the first time in two millennia was to sneak up behind me while I was setting the dinner table and put a handful of ice cubes down the back of my dress.

I am sitting next to Uncle Craig
and Aunt Romey, sharing a meal like we regularly do at our much smaller dining table back home, discussing some of the once weird, now typically Avalon happenings I have experienced over the past few days focusing on a sight-challenged me being collected at the airport by two-thousand year old huge black wolf,  being physically reunited with my dead mother, discovering that my long lost father isn’t the murdering Bloodstone turncoat we thought he was, and reconnecting with my ancient husband and the part of me that was once his ancient wife, even though I’ve been shy on the intricacies of that one…

After mentioning, repeatedly, that I am s
ick to death of talking about me and how I’d much rather hear about their news, they tell me about how their flight - except for actually enjoying their chicken dinner - was uneventful, and how they had to bring Chip along because attempting to leave him in anyone else’s care made the poor little guy hysterical. But, on a happier note, Aunt Romey did excitedly informed me that in six more days, we can speak to Georgie Pa over the phone, and with not much more to report, her and Uncle Craig start to speculate over which Tor clans will be representing their corners this year. All the while, Chip happily lies at our feet, oblivious to everyone and everything except for the raw lamb shank that was saved especially for him.

Leaving them to their
conjecture, I gaze around the table at everyone unreservedly chattering, gesticulating, and stuffing their faces. This ancient space capable of grounding the stars, turning Archangels into men, warriors into mothers, kings into uncles and weedy little dandelions into roses, is lively and full, except for the empty place we set for Zach. Teddy came down for dinner with the message that Zach isn’t feeling well, that he sends his apologies and that he’ll see us in the morning. Mum asked if we should take some food up to him, but Teddy quickly pointed out that he saw a hand written note on his door that says, DO NOT DISTURB! and that when Zach adds an exclamation point to anything, it’s best to leave him be.

All I
really know of Zach is what I have read in the authorised book about the band, as well has some of the hoo-ha in the tabloids about supposed drunken brawl here, and his new piercing
there
…which is to say, I really don’t know him at all. But, I want to. I want to get to know him for reasons I can’t explain. Maybe it’s the dark and mysterious vibe he gives off? The strain in his smile? His general snarkiness? But, all that black he wears could just be for show and far cry from the man he truly is. The next time I am alone with Josh, I’ll be sure to ask who Zach d’Argent is to him.

Feel
ing Josh’s eyes on me, I turn to meet his gaze. Smiling, he leans forward and speaks directly to me for the first time since we all sat down for dinner. “Can I see you tomorrow?” he softly asks.

I nod.

“For the whole day?”

I nod again and say, “As long as we are back for the evening Midsummer Eve celebrations, sure.”

“We will be,” he says, suddenly pushing out his chair, “I’ll see you, early,” he adds, standing up.

“How ea
rly?” I angrily whisper like the morning person I am not, but he has already started doing the rounds of the table, thanking everyone for dinner and bidding them goodnight. When he has come full circle, he comes up behind me, and sounding amused, he softly says, “I’ll be seeing you sooner than you think.”

 
I groan, suddenly remembering how Joshua liked to welcome each day with his wife by his side, rain, hail or shine.