PAT2011 – 07 Grace x Bliss by Lizzie

Pair-A-Thon 2011 Entry

The Sword and The Orb
by ~Lizzie

The winds of the dark night blew savagely, and the rain beat down on the earth. Deep in the woods, a young man in a green cloak walked through this storm, barely noticing the rain and wind pelting his back. He hunched over, trying to protect the woman he carried. He counted her breaths, feeling a small wave of relief at each one.

He had been walking for a week, and always at night. Day was for sleep—and hiding. For the last week he had been consumed by only three goals: find the sorcerer, keep the woman in his arms alive, and keep the others from finding them. These thoughts kept him going, even as the walks grew longer and harder, and she grew weaker and sicker.

The young man kept his eyes down as he walked down the narrow trail in the woods. It took all his concentration to not fall in the slick mud and uneven terrain, especially in the dark. When he finally looked up, he almost began to cry with joy. There, at the end of the trail, was the sorcerer’s hut, glowing with the most welcoming, magical light he had ever seen.

“We’re almost there,” he whispered to the woman, “We’ll be okay.”

The woman turned her head to the hut and opened her eyes. She smiled and sighed with relief before resting her head against the man’s chest again. “Oh, thank God,” she said in a quiet voice.

The door was open when he reached the hut, as if someone was expecting them. When he peered inside, he saw a man in a dark cloak with the hood pulled over his head, almost obscuring his eyes. He was resting his head on his right hand, and twirled an ornate wand in his right.

“I need your help,” the man said, still standing in the doorway.

The sorcerer smirked at the man. “Doesn’t everyone?” He beckoned for him to come closer. “Come inside, please. And take a seat, why don’t you?”

The man walked inside, and almost instantly he felt the cold water that soaked him disappear. He cautiously sat down, the woman still held in his protective arms.

“The old woman—the one from the inn outside the woods—she said that you know spells for everything,” he said.

The sorcerer smiled and waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, not everything, just most of it. But what is it that you need?”

“Two things,” the man said. “First, I need to be protected. I’ve…” he grimaced as a wave of nausea came over him. He couldn’t bring himself to say what happened. The blood on his hands and the corpse lying at his feet… It was just too much for him to bear to think about, let alone explain in words. “Well…let’s just say I’m a wanted man now, and I need to make sure I’m never found.”

The sorcerer nodded. “I do believe I have a few things that can take care of that. And the other thing you need?”

The young man looked down at the woman in his arms. “Her. She’s…she’s dying, and we have no idea what’s wrong. It started a month ago, and I took her to all the doctors I knew, and none of them could find a cure. They told me to prepare for the worst, and…” He trailed off again and looked up at the sorcerer, tears spilling out of his eyes. “Please, please help us! I can’t let this happen, I can’t let her die!”

“Calm down, calm down,” the sorcerer said. “Let me think.” He tapped his chin while the man in the green cloak did his best to regain his composure. The sorcerer snapped his fingers. “I might just have something for the both of you.” He stood up and walked into the other room.

The man gave a heavy sigh and moved his mouth in a silent prayer to a god he wasn’t sure was even real anymore. Even if He was real, the man doubted he would care about a poor fool like him.

Another tear slipped out of his eye. What if the sorcerer couldn’t save her? None of the doctors, with their certificates and fancy college educations, were able to do anything. And even if the sorcerer could do it, then how would the man pay? He was a poor farm boy, and didn’t anything more than pocket change, especially now that he was on the run. God, all of this was so hopeless…

He felt a hand on his cheek, gently wiping his tear away.

“Darling, it will be all right…” the woman said, looking up at him with her sad blue eyes.

He took her hand and held it next to his face. “You’re just saying that,” he whispered.

“So what if I am? We’re together—that’s all that matters.”

The man closed his eyes and pressed her hand to his lips. Her hand was cold—much too cold. He remembered, on the first day he met her, her hand was so warm that he could still feel it long after she had walked away.

__

The young man had been working in the field all day, and was resting under his favorite tree by the side of the road, watching the people go by in their carts and on their horses. It had been a long day, like it always was during harvest season. This day felt even longer, because his favorite horse had to be put down. His father didn’t even care to wait until he was out of the barn to do it, either, even though he knew how his son was around blood. But still, that was in the early morning, and he was feeling much better by that afternoon.

He saw a pretty woman coming up the road, clutching a few books to her chest. She was walking by rather quickly, and the man called out to her.

“Slow down, miss,” he said, “it’s a lovely day, enjoy it.”

The woman turned to look at him, a bit surprised. “Oh, um, hello, sir,” she said, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks.

The man grinned. “Who are you? I don’t believe I’ve seen you around before.”

“Oh, I’m the new school teacher,” she said, fiddling with the corner of one of the books. “Just started a few days ago.”

“You like it here?” the man asked.

She nodded, and said, “Yes, it’s quite nice.” She looked down the road. “I really should be heading home…”

“No, stay and chat a while, please,” the man said. He scooted over to make room for her. He took off his cloak and set it on the ground, so she wouldn’t get her skirts dirty.

The woman smiled, knowing she wouldn’t be able to refuse this polite gesture. She tentatively walked over and sat down beside him, placing her books on her knees. She had rather rosy cheeks, the man noticed.

“Where’re you from, miss?” the man asked.

“London,” the woman answered, pulling at a loose thread in her skirt, mostly so she wouldn’t have to look into this stranger’s eyes. “You?”

“I’ve lived here my whole life, in this same old boring town.”

“Well, I’d hardly say this town is boring—just relaxed and quiet.”

The man snorted. “Well, you lived in London.”

“And I didn’t like it one bit.”

“Why so?”

“Well, it was always much too loud, and I felt like I never had a moment to myself. But here,” she leaned against the tree and looked up at the sky through the branches, “here it’s peaceful and quiet, and just so lovely.” She turned her head, and looked straight into the man’s deep brown eyes.

The two talked for a while, the woman overcoming her shyness and talking more, smiling at the man and laughing at his jokes. The man wasn’t quite able to place it, but there was something about her that just felt…different.  Looking at the sun going down over the fields, she bid him adieu and stood up to head home.

As she began walking down the road, the man called her name and ran up to her.

“You forgot one of your books,” he said, holding out a volume in a green cover.

“Oh, thank you,” she said. When she took the book back, her hand lingered on his. He could still feel her warm touch hours after she was gone. He knew he would be waiting for her again the next day.

Their little meetings in the afternoon soon became routine, and they began spending more time together, the man walking with her down the road, inviting her to dinner at his family’s home, and taking leisurely strolls with her through the woods. After a few months had passed, they had fallen in love. Time passed quickly, and the year they spent together was the happiest that either of them had experienced. The winter months were filled with dinners with family and sitting by the fireplace, the spring with walks through the flower meadows and him making impromptu bouquets for her, and the summer was spent in secluded bits of shade by the secret ponds in the woods.

She would read to him some of her favorite stories; Romeo and Juliet, The Faerie Queene, some of the newer works by the Brontë sisters, and many others. The stories themselves did not interest him much, but listening to her voice as he held her in his arms was enough.

He would tell her about all the places they would travel to once they were married. They would go to Japan to see the cherry blossoms; Italy to float down the canals of Venice; France to eat the most delicious foods; India to ride on the backs of elephants. They would go anywhere that struck their fancy, and the money didn’t matter, at least not then. Then, when they were done traveling, they would come back to their sleepy little town in the English countryside and raise a family.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and one day at the end of September, the woman fell ill. The man took her to every doctor in the area and the next, and eventually all the way to London. The ointments and tonics did nothing, and the bloodletting only made things worse. Her complexion, normally rosy and bright, turned dull and gray. Her body, already rather small and willowy, became bony and weak. Some days, she did not have the energy to even get out bed, and the man would stay by her bedside all day, reading her the same stories that she read to him by the ponds in the summer.

One night, the young man was sitting in the barn, whittling a piece of wood by the light of a gas lamp. He knew he should have been asleep in his room, just like the rest of his family, but lately it took him hours to fall asleep, and when he did get to sleep, he had the same recurring nightmare of his love lying in a coffin.

The front door of the barn opened, and the man’s father walked in, grumbling.

“What the bloody hell are you doing out here so late?” the father said, rubbing his eye.

“I’m whittling,” the man said, holding up the stick and knife.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?” the father said, narrowing his eyes at his son.

“Well, I suppose so, but I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately,” he answered.

The father snorted. “That’s still no excuse.” He coughed, and then continued, “Your brothers told me about the nightmares.”

The young man looked down, slightly embarrassed. His father always thought he was the weakest of his sons, and he had hoped that his father wouldn’t find out about the nightmares.

When the man didn’t answer, his father walked closer, staring down at his son. “You know what I say? Get over it.”

The young man looked up at his father. “Excuse me?”

“Get over it, boy!” the father snapped. “Who cares about her? She’s going to be dead in a month, and there are hundreds of other pretty girls for you to choose from!”

The man glared at his father and slowly stood up. “She is not just some pretty girl.”

The father sneered. “Yes she is. You’re my second oldest son—you should be married and out of my hair by now!”

“But I love her,” the man replied simply and firmly. “I don’t want to marry any other girl.”

The father snorted. “Well, you should probably start thinking about it soon. Every man needs a wife, and it doesn’t matter who she is.”

The young man gritted his teeth and clenched his fist around the whittling knife. “I will never marry.”

The father’s glare deepened. “Oh? And when did you decide that?”

“The minute the doctor in London recommended a funeral home to me.”

The father gave a heavy sigh. “Fine, then. If you won’t choose a wife, then I’ll choose one for you. That Mary Beth is pleasant enough—I’ll talk to her parents tomorrow.”

The man began shaking his head. “No, no, you can’t force me to marry!”

“I can and I will!” the father yelled at his son before striking him across the face. “You’re a pathetic little romantic, and it’s best for all of us if you just forget about that dumb broad.”

The father turned to leave, and the young man stood there in shock, his face stinging. This man…this vile man—he could not be his father. The man drew in a shaky breath, and consumed with a blind, helpless rage, he ran at his father, driving the knife into his back.

After the man realized what he had just done and watched his father’s twitching figure go still, he stood there in shock, and then fled. Consumed with fear and horror at what had happened, he ran as fast as he could, knowing what would happen to him if he was found. He ran to the woman’s house, snuck in through the back door, explained quickly and quietly what had happened, and carried her away.

They hid in fields and in woods for three days, and were taken in by a kindly inn keeper on the fourth. She told them of a sorcerer deep in the woods who could fix all their problems, and finding him became the young man’s goal. If he couldn’t find the sorcerer, then both he and the woman would surely die.

__

The sorcerer walked back into the room, carrying a wooden chest. “Sorry I took so long,” he said. “Forgot where I had put this.”

He opened the chest and began rummaging through it. “Hmm, let’s see…nope not that sword…no, the ring’s been used… Ah, here we go!” He pulled out a rapier with a carnation hilt and a clear crystal orb. He reached across the table and handed the sword to the man, and the orb to the woman. The man gave the sorcerer an odd look.

“Now, let me explain how this will work,” he said. “I will perform a spell, and your spirit will go into the sword and hers into the crystal orb. These objects cannot be destroyed, and you will both be granted immortality. After the transformation, you will only be able to communicate with each other, other spirits, and whoever owns your object. You will be together, and you will be safe.”

The young man gave the sorcerer a suspicious look. “Well, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind…”

The sorcerer frowned. “Well, this is the only thing I am willing to offer for free. So, unless you have some money on you, this is what you get.”

The man pursed his lips and looked down at the woman. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was so quiet and gentle he wondered if he was imagining it.

The man sighed and looked up at the sorcerer. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

He grinned. “Good. But there is just one thing I should warn you about. This spell has not yet been perfected, and occasionally the transformation causes…unexpected changes in the spirit’s personality.”

“I don’t care!” the man snapped, then looked down and took in a deep breath. “Just do it. And even if our personalities do change, it won’t matter. I will alwayslove her.”

The sorcerer shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He walked around the table. “Hold out the sword please.” The young man did as he said, and the sorcerer placed one hand over his and one hand over the woman’s. He began whispering in a strange tongue and both the objects began to give off a faint blue glow. The sorcerer started to talk louder, and the glow grew brighter.

The man’s heart began to beat faster, and he wanted to pull away, but the sorcerer held fast onto his hand. The glow slowly brightened, and the man’s hand grew warmer on the sword. Soon, it almost felt like his hand was burning, but it was…slightly different than that. It felt as if it was melting into the sword.

The sorcerer talked louder still and the glow increased, and the melting sensation spread up the man’s entire arm. All he wanted to do was pull away, but it was impossible now. There was no going back.

The sorcerer was yelling now, and the light was so bright that the man closed his eyes, unable to look at the sword anymore. His whole body was melting, and the sword was pulling him in. The man screamed for the sorcerer to stop, but to no avail. Soon, the man was sucked into the burning, blinding light of sword, and in the next moment, it all was gone—the sound, the melting, the burning—and everything faded to black.