To Mend a Halfling's Soul

Dedication to Apollo:

I close my eyes, and I hear your voice calling my name, reminding me who I am.

I close my eyes, and I see the golden light that surrounds you, reminding me of who you are.

I close my eyes, and I feel your hand upon my shoulder, reminding me that you will always be there.

I open my eyes, and I realize you are everything in my heart, revealing to me that you are more than just a deity.

Apollo, you are the light, love, life, and the everlasting force that makes this spiritual world around us unfold and draws those like me to know your true meaning and existence.

***

Hymn to Gaia:

“I will sing of well-founded Earth, mother of all, eldest of all beings: she feeds all creatures that are in the world, all that go upon the goodly land, and all that are in the paths of the seas, and all that fly: all these are fed of her store.

Through you, O queen, men are blessed in their children and blessed in their harvests, and to you it belongs to give means of life to mortal men and to take it away. Happy is the man whom you delight to honor! He has all things abundantly: his fruitful land is laden with corn, his pastures are covered with cattle, and his house is filled with good things. Such men rule orderly in their cities of fair women: great riches and wealth follow them: their sons exult with ever-fresh delight, and their daughters in flower-laden bands play and skip merrily over the soft flowers of the field. Thus is it with those whom you honor, O holy goddess, bountiful spirit.

Hail, Mother of the gods, wife of starry Heaven; freely bestow upon me for this my song substance that cheers the heart! And now I will remember you and another song also.”

Homeric Hymn #30, 7th Century, BCE.

***

The goddess stood still. She glanced over her shoulder, as the solid doors closed behind her, leaving her in the sacred hall of the gods. She looked around at her surroundings. She very rarely entered this hall, as she wasn’t an Olympian, but she came whenever she was summoned. Today she came because her son sent word for her to be there.

Rhea, my mother, come stand before me.

Slowly Rhea turned her head toward the direction the voice came from. There at the other end of the hall sat her son, Zeus, and he wasn’t alone. She had presumed that this meeting was to be just the two of them. When she had received word that Zeus wanted to see her, she thought it would be as it had always been before. Not this time. His twins, Apollo and Artemis, flanked him and stood in only what could be described in a stance of superiority.

Rhea held her head high and walked with slow grace to the dais. Even though she was granted a place to live on Mt. Olympus, she was still considered to be a Titan, as were the other goddesses who stood on the side of the Olympians during the war that brought her brother-husband, Cronus, out of power and Zeus the title of king of the gods. At the time it was the right thing to do, but now, she had second thoughts.

Rhea stopped at the base of the dais and curtsied before her son and grandchildren. It was a sign of respect and also it was expected of her. She rose to stand and looked Zeus directly in his steel gray eyes, ignoring Apollo and Artemis.

You summoned me, my son?

Yes, tell me, how is Gaia?

Why did you not come to her bed to see for yourself?

You know why.

Ahh, yes, the oil spill has kept you busy. Well, what has kept you preoccupied with toying with the heads of governments of man, has kept Mother Earth, your grandmother, the one who helped hide you from your father’s desire to swallow your infant body, has made her a prisoner of deep sorrow. Her body weakens with each passing hour, and until the natural balance of Earth’s eco-system is restored, she will suffer.

Aradia will heal her, it will take time, but she will heal.

Rhea took a step up the dais and Zeus rose, as if he disapproved of her movement. She didn’t let his glare intimidate her. He may be the king of the gods, but he still was her son. Without her allegiance to him all those years ago, he could have been the one imprisoned in Tartarus instead of her brothers. But here he was, and they were below.

You wish to replace her with this other world you created for your favorite souls to thrive? It will change her. You know that. Gaia will no longer be the goddess she is if she loses her connection with Earth.

She will live and grow strong with Aradia. The Aradians will worship her once we are reestablished as their gods.

He placed his hands on his muscular hips, and she felt the power well up in his fists. Her words angered him, and he was restraining his temper, she could see it in his eyes. He knew she disapproved of creating Aradia. She tried to convince him to wipe mankind off the face of the Earth and start all over again with a race of man like her husband created, the golden race of man, but Zeus refused to give up on the destructive souls.

The men of Earth were destroying the ground they walked upon with their greed for power and they burrowed deep below the ground for their precious oil. War had broken out and countries pitted themselves against other countries for rights to claim the land for more oil. They were pathetic creatures and poisoned the air they breathed with their so called advances in technology and with the waste from their plants, and all they did was make her mother, Gaia, ill.

Please, my son, I ask you again to destroy those creatures before they destroy all of us.

And I say to you again, no. The souls I need will continue to cross the veil to Aradia. Man will survive.

He took the two remaining steps down and stood next to her. His seven-foot frame towered over her five-foot seven body, and she straightened her back to stand tall. She refused to allow him to intimidate her. She was a Titan after all, a race of gods that came long before Zues and his Olympians.

Never question my decision again, Rhea. You may be my mother, but I am still your king.

She lowered her head, as a sign of acceptance of his words, but in her heart, she knew she had to take matters in her own hands. This was not over. In fact, she knew that this was just the beginning, a beginning that was going to pit her against her son, Zeus. She needed to save Gaia before it became too late and her mother’s life force drained from her immortal body.

Ares burst through the doors and ran down the length of the hall to stand next to Zeus. All in attendance turned their attention to the god of war as he spoke.

The warlord is looking for the brat. He is close this time. Father, what do you want to do?

Artemis, go to her and guide her, it is time for her to walk her fated path. Apollo, go to Aradia and make sure the mate I have chosen for her is near the veil to receive her.

He turned and walked back to his silver throne on the dais. He sat down and pointed to Rhea. Go back to Gaia and tend to her. Aradia will heal her; it is only a matter of time.

Pagan knew she was taking a chance by coming back here. She felt there was no other option for her. She had to see him one more time. He helped raise her and he was like her grandfather, and Marco, well, he was more like a big bother than anything to her. They were the only family she had, not blood related, but family, nonetheless. They took care of her, kept her hidden from prying eyes and safe from the evil that hunted her down.

She had left the quiet village over a year ago and had been on the run ever since. She ran away in order to protect them, keep them from being murdered, or worse, tortured before being murdered. She thought if she kept them in the dark about where she was, then they would be safe. She was wrong. Evil reared its ugly head and raided all the nearby villages, looking for her. And in the process, Abuelo Manuel had been shot and now lay dying in their hut on the edge of the Mexican jungle.

Tears filled her eyes, as sorrow and anger coursed through her. That man was after her and was willing to kill anyone who got in his way. Sergio Gomez was a Guatemalan warlord who had the crazy notion she was his soul mate, his other half, and he wanted her to rejoin with him to create a power that he felt he needed to possess. He was obsessed with power and was willing to do anything to get it.

Well, if the story he believed were true, she was definitely the better half of the two. She would never rejoin with him; she didn’t know if it were even possible. All she knew was he believed it and he was hunting her like a wild animal with the intent to take what he wanted from her and discard her like he did to all who got in his way.

Pagan had been roaming the Yucatan Peninsula for over a year, trying to escape his grasp. And now she was returning to the small hut where she grew up to say goodbye to a loving man. Abuelo spoke only Spanish to her, and he encouraged her to use her gifts productively and not for personal gain. He and Marco kept her hidden as much as possible because of her gifts and her unusual eyes. They were lavender in color, and no one else in the world had been born with eyes the color of heather.

Colored contacts were in style and people around the world wanted exotic looking eyes, but they were adults who purchased the eye color changing contacts. She was born with lavender eyes, and anyone who saw her when she was a small child, ran making the sign of the cross and yelled “bruja!”, which was translated as witch. It was no wonder she had not been burned at the stake, especially since she also had the gifts of being able to move things with her mind and transmit thoughts to animals. All these things the locals didn’t understand because they were not cable of doing what she was able to do.

It was as if she understood their unspoken language of the animals and they in turn understood her. And if that wasn’t enough, she had a talent for empathic abilities. Put all of her gifts together and the word “witch” came to mind. Fortunately for her, Marco and Abuelo Manuel came to her rescue and tucked her away in their little hut hidden from sight. She hated it as a child, but as she grew older, she came to understand why. They did it out of love.

She was different. Her ivory skinned tanned under the hot Mexican sun and her hair consisted of tight golden blonde curls that hung past her shoulders, also a trait not seen in the Maya children in the nearby village, and of course her eyes. She looked like a life-sized Shirley Temple doll that someone messed up by coloring her eyes a pastel lavender tint. She considered herself to be a freak of nature.

At that thought, she tucked a stray lock into the bandana that kept her hair from getting in her eyes. Damn that mess of curls. She hated them. She would have cut them all off long ago if Esmeralda hadn’t stopped her. She told her she needed to embrace what God had given her and stop trying to be something she wasn’t. Esmeralda was a stern woman, who tried her best to help Abuelo and Marco raise her, after all she tried to be a mother to her for the first five years of her life, but she reminded Pagan too much of herself and she tried her best to stay away from Esmeralda.

Pagan took in a deep breath before she stepped out from the jungle canopy that hid her presence. Her tan cargo pants and green plaid shirt blended in with the jungle to provide her with camouflage when she was hiding in the overgrown brush. Out in the open was another matter. She looked around the area. The coast was clear, and she took advantage of the opportunity.

She dashed forward, holding her machete in front of her, and ran toward the hut. The door was open. She looked around the small domicile through the entrance before she entered. No one was there. Stealthily she walked across the floor to the small room in the back where she knew to be Abuelo’s room. She peered inside and saw his limp form in the hammock that hung by the window.

“Abuelo!” She cried out.

Pagan dropped her weapon and ran to his side with tears stinging her eyes. This was her fault, all her fault for being who she was. She kissed his forehead as gently as she could. He didn’t move and his eyes remained closed. She gently placed her hand upon his head and stroked his black hair with tenderness. She knew his life was living his body.

“Pagan! What are you doing here, mija? Gomez’s men are scouring the village looking for you!” Marco exclaimed. “You should not have returned.”

Pagan looked up to see Marco holding a knife and a hot bowl of water. She looked back at Manuel and caressed his worn cheek. She could see death was about to take her abuelo from her.

“He’s not going to make it, is he?” she asked with a shaky voice.

“I’m afraid not, mija. I have done all I can do. All that’s left is to make him comfortable. Father Juan is on his way to administer his last rights.”

Marco walked over to his father and removed the bloody bandage to cleanse the wound that claimed his stomach. He had been shot three days ago and no village doctor dared to come to his aid for fear of Gomez’s revenge on their own family. He knew word would reach her of Abuelo’s condition and that she would risk her life to be by his side to say goodbye. If she were to get her hands on the snake, she would wring his neck and hang him by his toes and gut him like the viper he was. He was ruthless in his actions and didn’t care for anyone except himself and his cruel desire to take her power away from her.

“Pagan, listen to me. You must leave at once. It is for your own safety,” Marco said to her.

His voice barely broke her train of thought.

“I can’t, Marco. Abuelo is lying here because of me. I owe it to him to be here.”

“Mija, please, I beg of you. Don’t let his death be in vain. Father would rather die than see you in the hands of Gomez. Please, go now.”

“But…”

“Honor his memory, Pagan. He loves you and will always love you whether he is here or in heaven. Father Juan will see to the safe passage of his soul into heaven, I promise you. Go now, before it is too late. Gomez is close by. You must hurry.”

Shots rang out in the distance and shouts soon followed. Marco was right. That madman was here. Gomez was nearby and searching the village again for her. People were dying because of his obsession over her. She heard the cries of mothers, as their young children screamed from the torturous hands of his men. They were merciless in their actions, and it was all her fault.

“Quick, come with me, Pagan! You must leave this place!” Father Juan exclaimed.

Pagan watched as Father Juan ran into the small hut to her side. He grabbed her arm, and he was pulling her away from her abuelo. More shots came and they were closer this time.

Marco went to the small chest on the floor by the wall and threw open the lid. He pulled out a small handgun and tossed it to Father Juan. He then reached for an assault rifle he had stashed away under a pile of blankets. It was preloaded and he released the safety.

He was going to fight for her and most likely die.

“No, Marco, I can’t let you do this–”

He cut her off, “Sí, mija, I have to do this. It’s the only way to keep you safe. Now, go with the good father to the veil and cross it. It’s your only hope. I’ll try to delay Gomez as long as I can.”

She ran to Marco and tugged on his arm. “No! I will not go! They don’t want me any more than the people here do!”

Marco looked down into her pleading eyes. “Sí, mija, they will want you. You will see. They are your mother’s people, and you are a part of them as much as you are a part of your father’s people here on Earth. Cross the veil to Aradia, Pagan. Please, I beg of you. It’s the only place Gomez will not be able to find you. It’s your only chance to survive.”

Suddenly the hut door burst open, and an array of soldiers stormed in with guns drawn. She had run out of time. Gomez was here for her and most likely kill everyone in the room if she didn’t leave right away. She couldn’t let that happen. She needed to leave her childhood home and say goodbye to this place forever. It was the only way.

Father Juan pushed her toward the window that was by the hammock, and he hoisted her through it and he followed suit. She got to her feet and waited for Father Juan to rise. This was familiar to her. She knew how to outrun Gomez’s men and hide herself away, but this time she had Father Juan with her. She needed to get him to safety.

She grabbed his hand and together they ran through the jungle and headed to a dense area that she needed her machete to get through. She had left it in the hut, and at that thought, she turned around to glance in the direction of her childhood home. An array of gunfire sounded, and she knew Marco had done as he’d said he would do. He was most likely dead. Another life lost because of her.

The only thing that mattered now was to get to safety and honor Marco’s last words to her. Aradia. She had to get to the veil and cross to Aradia. It was the only option left for her. It was a place she had been told about, but she never once set foot on the soil of the sister world to Earth. She never wanted to until now.

Father Juan chanted the Lord’s Prayer in Spanish, as they darted in between the low hanging trees. Snakes were everywhere, but listened to her inner call, and cleared away from their path. The only obstacles were the low brushes that tangled around their feet, hindering each step they took. She pulled at them as best she could to get free and Father Juan did the same. The action slowed their progress. They needed to hurry. She was running out of time.

A cry shrieked through the thick jungle that seemed to vibrate through the trees, and she knew they had been spotted. They needed to quicken their pace. The main road was not an option and the usual path to the cave that held the veil would no doubt be a disaster since they would have to double back toward the hut to reach it. They would have to fight their way through the thick overgrowth and reach the cave from the other direction. They would lose time in doing so but there was no other way.

Shots were being fired and bullets were flying all around them to be embedded in the trees. She ducked and pulled Father Juan down for cover. He clutched the handgun and prayed to God for forgiveness for what he was about to do. They were close, only a few feet more, and they would be at the entrance to the cave. She had to send him away for his own protection. She was the one who needed to cross the veil, not him. She wasn’t even sure if he knew what it was.

Pagan turned to face him in the low bushes and felt the intense pain, as she heard the gunfire. She lost her balance and fell forward to the ground, clutching her bleeding wound.

Father Juan stood up and in a burst of adrenalin he opened fire toward the soldier that shot her. Pagan saw the man fall to the ground and she reached for Father Juan’s hand to help her stand. He placed his arm around her waist and guided her in the direction she pointed. They were almost there. She could see the bush that hid the entrance to the cave.

Her vision began to fade, as the searing pain in her stomach pulsated, radiating outward with each step she took. She had to make it. She was too close not to. None of Gomez’s men were following them. All they had to do was slip inside and disappear, never to be found by Sergio Gomez again and leave this cruel place behind.

But then again, it was only she who needed to fall off the face of the Earth. Father Juan did not need to follow her. He had brought her here, now it was up to her to go the rest of the way alone. She needed to send him away for his own safety.

“Father, over there, see the large bush against that rock?”

“Sí, Pagan,” he replied.

“I must go through it. Take me to it and then leave. Go to Mexico City and the authorities. Contact the Vatican, if you must, and get permission to go to Rome. You must leave Mexico immediately.”

“Sí, mija, Mexico City is my plan, but Rome, I think not. My place is here among my people. My sister, Esmeralda, is here and I cannot leave her. I have a duty to my people.”

“No, please! Gomez will hunt you down. I don’t want another death on my conscience. Please, Father, go to Rome,” she pleaded.

He shook his head in response and said, “Right now, the only thing you need to be concerned with is crossing that veil, not my safety. God will guide me. I know what it is, and I know God created it. You need to be there.”

“You know?” she asked surprised.

“Enough talk. Let’s get you to safety.”

He took a step forward and she stumbled, as she tried to move. He picked her up and carried her the rest of the way. She was losing a lot of blood and everything around her started to spin. Father Juan prayed as he stood in front of the bush. He moved into the overgrown shrub, and he yelled when a large spider bit his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment before he continued to go deeper into the hidden cave.

She saw the creature and shoved it off his shoulder. It was the last thing she was able to do. She floated in and out of consciousness, as her life slowly ebbed out. She was dying and her empathic ability confirmed it. She had failed. The only consolation was that she would die here out of sight of Gomez and his men. He would never find her.

“Don’t give up, Pagan. Please, fight it,” he pleaded.

His words barely registered. “We’re almost there. I can see it. It is beautiful, mija. Shining, blue and peaceful.”

She opened her eyes and tried to focus on the scene before her. He was right. It was beautiful and he was carrying her to it. Blue spirals with an iridescent glow twirled before them. It was the veil that was to lead her to another world.

“I’ll get you there. I promise. Your mother’s people will embrace you. Remember Draken? He will help you like he did when you were a child. You must seek him out once you get there. When you are safe, I will return to my own world. I promise you, Pagan, all will be well.”

The name entered her mind. Yes, she remembered Draken. But that was so long ago, and he, too, deserted her like everyone else in her life, save for Abuelo Manuel and Marco. And now they were dead because of her.

Pagan closed her eyes again, as they reached the deep blue spirals. She was too weak and thanked God Father Juan was there to carry her across. She couldn’t have made it without him. He stepped into the blue light, and she felt her heart stop and her lungs cease to function. She must be dead; there was no other explanation. As the realization hit her, she drifted off and lost consciousness.

***

There was a chill in the air on this February day. The last snowfall of the season was looming in the distance. He could see the clouds forming in the distance. Tristan pulled his cloak a little tighter against the wind that bristled around him. His hair blew across his face, and he brushed it out of his eyes. He looked toward the main road. He was at least ten hours ride from home and was only here at the ruler’s insistence. Ever since the incident almost twenty years ago, his cousin, Draken, had taken an interest in this distant land and the farmer, who tended it. He was to make sure they had enough food, and the house was in good repair to bear the coming snow. It had been a light winter, but the clouds that moved across the sky threatened to unleash a fierce storm unlike any other. So, he came and did his duty. He and his brother were making a last round of the land before heading home.

Brailey rode up next to him and his horse pranced as he was halted in mid step.

“Tristan, all looks well. I believe we have fulfilled our purpose here.”

“Yes, brother, it appears we are finished.”

“Shall we start for home?” Brailey asked.

Tristan looked at his younger brother and a slight smile curved his lips. “Are you in a hurry to see our family, or are you in need of a little company of the female kind?”

Brailey laughed and nudged his horse forward. “Why, brother, you know me too well.”

“Yes, I do,” Tristan chuckled. His brother was a ladies’ man and always found a willing lady to spend time with him.

Tristan turned his horse to join his brother when he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. He halted his horse and turned him around, causing the steed to prance where he stood. In the distance was a figure slowly walking out of the dense copse of trees on the other side of the clearing. It appeared to be limping, and at closer glance, it seemed to be a man, a naked man, no less, and he was carrying a small-framed woman in his arms. He wanted to see if the man needed help.

Tristan shouted to his brother to ride back, and he quickly galloped toward the man. He dismounted rather swiftly and ran over to him. The man’s face looked gray, and he had a wound on his neck that was oozing puss.

The man stumbled, and Tristan caught him by his elbow to steady him. He looked at the limp bundle he clutched so dearly to his chest. She was young, frail and near death, and covered in blood. Tristan ran his finger across her cold cheek, and she lightly moaned. He looked to the man and gave him a questioning stare. Why was he here in the middle of a field naked and carrying an injured woman in his arms? What had happened to her? Where did they come from?

The man spoke, “¿Dónde estamos, por favor, dónde? Are we here? Please, tell me, señor, are we here?” His voice was barely audible.

“Where, good sir, and why are you both naked?” Tristan asked the man.

The man looked down at the woman in his arms and pulled her against him in an effort to hide her naked form from Tristan. Brailey rode up and dismounted and walked over to them to stand next to Tristan.

“Aradia. Are we in Aradia?” the man asked in a shaky voice.

“Yes,” Tristan replied.

“¡Dios Mío! We made it… Pagan. I told… you …I would get… you here.”

The man thrust his ward into Tristan’s arms and then fell to the ground. Brailey knelt next to the naked man and checked for a pulse, he shook his head. “He’s dead, Tristan.”

Pagan felt the arms that were holding her were somehow different, stronger, and solid. She gently opened her eyes to stare up at the man that now held her in his embrace. She focused as best as she could, and a flicker of a memory entered her mind. Long raven black hair blew gracefully over his shoulders and a familiar gleam of golden speckled brown eyes were looking down at her. She must be there. Aradia. Somehow, he had found her. She reached up and touched his hair, as it blew across his face.

“Draken,” she whispered before she fainted.

Tristan couldn’t believe his eyes. She was beautiful and when she looked up at him, her unusual lavender eyes took him aback, and just as quickly as she opened them, she closed them again. He pulled her close and bent his head down to hers to check for breathing. It was shallow, but there. Where had they come from and what language had the man spoken? He had never heard it before. At least she spoke his language.

He looked down at the dead man and then up at the sky, as a cloud approached. The snow would fall soon, and he needed to get her to shelter and tend to her wound. She called him Draken. She knew of his cousin, but Draken had never mentioned knowing such an exquisite creature as her. Who was she?

“Tristan, what do you want to do?” Brailey asked.

“I have my hands full, as you can see. You’d better pick up the dead man and place him across your horse. We’ll bring them to the farmer’s house so I can assess her injury.”

“Brother, the storm. There is no time for a proper burial for the man.”

“I know, but given the circumstances, the sooner he is in the ground, the better. Ask the farmer and his son to help you bury him beyond the clearing and when the snowfall clears, we will return to give him a proper farewell. In the meantime, I’ll take care of her. It is still early enough in the day; I should have her ready to travel before the evening falls and we’ll ride all night if we have to in order to beat the storm.”

“We’re taking her with us?” asked Brailey.

“Well, I can’t very well leave her here in her present condition. Besides, she knows Draken. Maybe he can tell us who she is.”

Tristan handed the woman to his brother so he could mount his horse. Brailey gently lifted her up and Tristan clutched her tightly to his chest.

“Hold on, princess, don’t die on me. I want to see those beautiful lavender eyes again.” Tristan headed toward the farmer’s house. It was the best place to stabilize her for traveling and hopefully keep her from dying. He felt a sudden need deep in his soul to heal this unknown woman, he couldn’t explain it, all he knew was she was dying, and he couldn’t let that happen. He pulled the reins to stop his horse and dismounted with his new charge in his arms. He kicked open the door to the farmer’s house and quickly made his way to the back room. He laid her on the meager bed and began his examination of her wound. He had never seen an injury like this before and wondered what kind of instrument could cause such damage. He placed his hand over the hole in her abdomen and sent a pulse of bright white healing light directly into her body. He knew he needed to do more and that required drastic measures on his part. He quickly disrobed and climbed into the bed to lay beside her, filling her with his lifeforce. He hoped it was enough to keep her alive.

Pagan felt sudden warmth engulf her and a surge of what only could have been masculine energy. It pulsated through her body and her first instinct was to fight it. She wanted to struggle, but she was too weak. She moved and found an arm wrapped around her, tightening the hold it already had on her. Her senses were heightened, as she realized she was naked and the man holding her was, too. Where was she? And who was this man that was holding her captive?

He spooned her deeper into his grip and whispered to her mind. Do not fight me, princess. Let me in. It’s the best way for me to heal you. I promise I am not going to hurt you.

He gently nudged his head in her hair. She felt a slow calm gradually fill her entire body. Her bullet wound throbbed in a dull sensation, but no longer hurt as it did before. She gave into his embrace; she was too weak to fight him anymore. She soon fell into a deep sleep.

Brailey walked in to find Tristan getting dressed. He glanced down at the woman on the bed and Tristan followed his brother’s eyes. Tristan had stabilized her for the long journey home. He was glad she opened up to him enough to allow his lifeforms to enter her body. He hoped it was enough to keep her alive.

“Well? Is she going to make it?” Brailey asked him.

“I’ve done the best I can in the short amount of time I had available. Her wound is deep, and she has lost a lot of blood. I managed to stop the bleeding for now, but the ride may be her undoing.” He glanced back at his new charge. “We’ll need to ride hard and fast. The sooner we get her home and in a more comfortable bed, the better chance I’ll have of healing her.”

“Aren’t you going to let the doctor in the village take over?” Brailey asked him.

“No. I started this process with her, and I intend to see it through. I can’t explain it, but a bond has formed between us, and I believe she is starting to trust me.”

“Trust you? She doesn’t know you are even here. She’s out of it for who knows how long if she wakes up at all.”

“I told you I couldn’t explain it. Come, let’s go.” Tristan walked over to her and gently pick her up. He made his way through the farmer’s house and stepped outside to see his horse readied and his brother already seated in his horse.

Tristan carried her to his horse. He had wrapped her in a blanket from head to toe. He wanted to make sure she stayed warm. Once on his horse, he tied her to him so she could not fall. He wanted to ease the long ride as best he could for her, and it was definitely going to be a long ride. They needed to get this journey started. He nudged his steed to move forward and they trotted toward the main road that led to the ruling houses of Aradia.

Hours had passed and she started to stir. His voice soothed her mind again. Be still, you don’t want to start bleeding again. We’ll be at our destination soon. Just relax and sleep.

She gave into his thoughts and fell back to sleep. He could hear her breath coming in spasms and he worried she might be drifting away. He pulled as much energy from the cold ground as he could and molded it into a sphere around them. He then pushed his own life force into her body and took over her breathing. She fell into step with the rhythmic breath he created and began to breathe evenly. She was stable once again.

Tristan had never put so much of his own life force into a woman before and he worried about the consequences that may follow. A bond had already formed between them, and he was able to sense when she was in distress. He could only imagine what this might be doing to her emotionally. She opened her mind to him so easily. It was quite possible she might even be able to sense his inner feelings as well.

There was no time to debate any longer. The deed had already been done. She was dying and he made a quick decision in order to save her life. He only hoped it was the right one for her sake.

Brailey came close to his side. “The manor is only a few miles away. I’ll ride a head and tell our mother to make ready a room for our guest.”

“Brailey, tell her I want her to be in my room.”

His brother raised an eyebrow. “You’re really going to go through with this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“All right. I’ll see you in a few.” Brailey kicked his heels into his mount and raced off toward the manor.

Tristan held her closer to him. Yes, he would see this through no matter what the consequences. She was placed in his arms to take care of and he had every intention of doing so. “You’ll be lying in a warm bed soon. I promise I’ll take care of you.” He wondered if she heard him and pushed his thoughts into her mind. Princess, can you hear me?

To his surprise she answered him in his mind.

Yes, I hear you. And my name isn’t princess. It’s Pagan.

Pagan? Well, if you say so, princess.

He felt her falter beneath the blanket. She was fading away into darkness again. He sensed it and he knew he was losing her. He kicked his stallion into action and rode fast and hard. The breath of his horse plumed into the air like a powerful mist rising above a hot spring, spewing the heat with a natural force. There was no time to waste. He needed to get her to the manor.

He barely managed to stop the stallion when he reached the manor. His mother ran out the door to greet him. Brailey was directly behind her.

“My son, quickly, I’ve readied your room like you asked.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Tristan jumped off his horse with Pagan in his arms, he sprinted up the stairs and ran through the door with his mother and brother not far behind. He took the main stairs upward two at a time and brushed past his sister Betha to continue to his on his way to his room. The door was open, and he strode in and placed her on his bed.

Betha ran up beside him and gasped when she saw the blood pooling on the blanket when Tristan removed it. She immediately ran to the washboard and dipped a towel into the hot water she had prepared and started to cleanse the gaping wound. Tristan undressed and leaned over her limp body. Her heart had stopped; he felt the change in her life force.

“Quick, grab the board and place it underneath her,” he told Brailey.

Brailey grabbed the board that was placed in his room in case he needed it. He turned her on her side and Brailey slid it beneath her. Tristan straddled her and pumped his hands upon her chest while Betha held a cloth tightly against her wound as best she could.

Come on, Pagan. Don’t leave me now.

She took a deep breath. Her heart began to beat. Tristan sighed with relief and knelt by her side on the bed. He leaned over her face, covering hers with his, hiding her from view with his hair. He was barely a breath away.

“I’ve got it from this end. Betha, my sister, use whatever salves you have to tend her wound while I keep her alive,” he said.

Betha quickly retrieved a salve she had made ready as soon as Brailey reached the manor and described the girl’s wound to her. She didn’t know what had caused it, but it stretched completely through the girl’s body. The young lady looked to be the same age as her. The girl was too young to die and by the look on her brother’s face, he refused to let her. She wondered who she was and where she was from. Betha knew just about every young maiden in and around the main village and she didn’t look familiar in the least. She quickly returned to the bed holding the salve in her hand.

Tristan concentrated on Pagan’s breathing, trying to keep it in rhythm with his. It was working. Once again, she had let him in too easily. He was glad for that really. It made it easier to reach inside and heal her. But each time he was inside her, he left a piece of him within her. He could feel his life force mingling with hers.

Betha dressed the wound and placed a loving hand upon her brother’s head.

“I’ve done all I can do for now. I’ll be back in a few hours to change her dressing,” she said with concern in her voice.

“Thank you, Betha. But that is not necessary. I’ll do it. Leave the salve on the table with clean linens,” he replied.

“Tristan, you can’t do this alone. You have been riding all night. You can’t heal her if you are exhausted,” he heard Betha say.

“Your sister is right,” his mother said in a soft voice.

“Well, at least can I bring more hot water in a few hours?” Betha asked.

“Yes, that, dear sister, you can do.”

“Fine. I’ll see you in a few hours,” Betha said.

Tristan gently moved her to the middle of the bed and off the stiff board, and Brailey removed it, placing it against the wall. Tristan lay beside her and placed his arm and leg across her, cuddling her underneath his warm body. He needed to be close to her in his natural state throughout the day and night to come. It was the best way to heal her and keep her alive.

His mother walked over to the bed and draped a blanket over the two of them.

“Whoever she is, she is lucky you are willing to do this for her. I hope you know what you are doing for your sake as well as hers,” his mother said.

He looked up at his mother and smiled. “I know.”

Brailey had already started the fire to warm the room and his mother blew out the candles that had given them light. The clouds hung low and covered the morning sunrise. The storm was about to unleash its furry upon them. She drew the drapes shut to darken the room as best as she could so they could sleep.

“Mother, tell Draken I wish to speak with him.”

“I know, dear, Brailey already told me. He is away at a nearby village. I sent a messenger. He should be home in a few hours. I’m sure he will come here as soon as he arrives.”

Tristan watched his family exit the room. As his brother closed the door, he could see Betha trying to get another peek as it closed shut. He put his head down and nuzzled his nose into her hair. She carried the scent of sweet cocoa mixed with sweat and remnants of the blanket he had wrapped around her delicate body. When she was better, he would help her wash her hair, he thought. Or at least have Betha do it. It would give his sister something to do so she felt useful. He wanted to take of this woman, who ever she was, and he let a soft sigh escape his lips, knowing he was doing what his heart was telling him to do. He was a healer, and she was his charge.

Tristan heard the loud sound of thunder, as the rain fell, and it quickly turned into an ice storm. Once the ground cooled off, snow would fall. He had done it. He had beaten the storm. He had her in a place where he knew he could heal her properly and tend to her through the storm that he thought might leave them snowed in for days. He hoped Draken would be back before that happened. He wanted to know who this woman in his bed was.

***

Draken slowly opened the door to see his younger cousin standing at the washboard, washing his face. The naked man noticed him and motioned for him to come closer, and Draken entered the room.

“I understand she spoke my name,” Draken said as he glanced at the small form in Tristan’s bed.

“Yes, Draken, she did. I believe she thought I was you.”

Draken smiled at him. “I can see how; you do resemble me in my younger days. Though I must admit, I don’t recall having her acquaintance.”

Draken walked to the side of the bed and leaned over her sleeping body. “She is quite beautiful.”

“Yes, she is,” Tristan said as he joined Draken.

“It has been a few years since I dallied with the ladies, though she does seem to be a bit young for my taste. What did she say her name was?”

“Pagan,” Tristan replied.

Draken stiffened.

“Are you sure you don’t know her?” Tristan asked.

Draken paused for a moment and caressed the crown of her head. He twirled one of her golden ringlets around his finger. Could this be her? His Pagan, the five-year-old girl he had left behind on Earth fifteen years ago to return to be ruler of Aradia? He often wondered what happened to her. Obviously, something horrible happened to her to be here with a wound that nearly cost her life. But he had to make sure.

“What color are her eyes?” he asked.

“Funny you should ask. They’re lavender.” Tristan watched the flicker of acknowledgement grace his cousin’s face. “You do know her!”

“Yes, I do. She is Samson’s granddaughter and my adopted daughter.”

Understanding came to Tristan in a flash. “This is Fauna’s daughter, isn’t it?”

Draken nodded.

“But she’s dead. The Maker took her soul out of her body twenty years ago.”

“Yes, He did.”

“But how is she here?”

“I put it back,” Draken said matter-of-factly.

Tristan was speechless for the first time in his twenty-five years. No one had ever put a soul back into a body once it was removed, especially one taken out by the Maker. There was a small window of opportunity to revive a person once their heart stopped beating, and the soul usually didn’t leave the body till the brain stop functioning, but to force a soul back into a body was like an act by a deity and Draken had done it.

“I’ll go tell Samson and Elizabeth that Pagan is here. Anyway, you better put some clothes on. You don’t want Samson ranting about dishonoring his granddaughter and demand a marriage between the two of you.”

“She is still close to death. I have to keep filling her with my life force to help her stay alive. My nearness is essential in my natural state, you of all people should know that.”

Draken shot him a wary eye, “You are doing what? She’s a Halfling. You don’t know if her abilities are strong enough to handle it. You could be doing her more harm than good and send her off longing for her soul mate!”

“Hey, it was the only thing I could think of at the time, and she’s still alive, isn’t she? Besides, she’s not my soul mate, so placing my energy into her is not going to cause her to go insane trying to rejoin with me. And I don’t think she will go in search of her soul mate either.”

He hoped Tristan was right. Draken knew she was not his other half, and they both were safe from insanity. But she was a Halfling, half Aradian and half Earthling, a child born from soul mates, the only one in existence. Her mental abilities haven’t been trained and she may not be able to withstand Tristan’s life force for very long without losing her own will to live on her own without him.

She was special to Draken; he felt he needed to hide her away. All of Aradia thought her dead and it was better that way. He didn’t want people fearing her because her kind was unknown to them. He defied the Maker and brought her back to life, and for that act, he was banished from Aradia until the Maker summoned him back. Now, she was back in flesh and blood and possibly dying again. There had to be a reason but why?

“Get dressed, Tristan. This is going to be an emotional day for all involved.”

***

A dream. She was having another dream. Tristan tightened his grip on her to help her get through it. Every few hours she would have dreams of her past as a child and being left behind. The things she had lived through had been horrid to watch her relive. He was healing her and needed to be one with her in order to do so. His life force was keeping her alive and he filled her with it, and by doing so, created a bond and a link between them. He was able to see her dreams.

She opened her mind to him too easily while unconscious, and he was hit hard in his mind every time the dreams came. They were more like nightmares with an occasional scene of love with people, whom he believed cared for her. Draken was also in her dreams. The emotions she felt for him were mixed with love, affection, sadness, and hate. She had to be an path in order for her to fill him with her emotions with such force.

He spoke to her mind in an attempt to calm her down, Let it go, Pagan. No one is going to hurt you. He caressed her golden ringlets. It’s only a dream, princess. You are safe here with me.