Xander's Folly Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Newletter

  Dedication

  Quote

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Thank you

  About the author

  XANDER'S FOLLY

  Belinda M Gordon

  Copyright © 2016 Belinda M Gordon

  www.belinda-gordon.com

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,

  places, events and incidents are either the products of the

  author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any

  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual

  events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Wesley Goulart

  Cover Illustration timurd © 123RF.com

  Publisher:

  Shaggy Dog Productions

  221 Skyline Dr., ste 208-228

  East Stroudsburg, PA 18301

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  For a leanbh,

  Joshua

  Though I am old with wandering

  Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

  I will find out where she has gone,

  And kiss her lips and take her hands;

  And walk among long dappled grass,

  And pluck till time and times are done

  The silver apples of the moon,

  The golden apples of the sun.

  -William Butler Yeats

  The Song of Wandering Aengus

  CHAPTER ONE

  TRESSA

  The warriors had finally gotten one side of the courtroom cleared, after resorting to threats to use their weapons. Alexander and I sat in the bottom row of the cleared section. Uncle Lomán left the arena to take the queen and his daughters safely away from the raucous crowd. He had asked us to wait there for him.

  Alexander held onto the sword, though he kept his posture non-threatening. He leaned forward with his forearms on his thighs. He held the sword tip down, between his knees with the point resting on the floor. Yet for all his attempts to appear relaxed, his dark chocolate eyes patrolled the surrounding scene with cat-like intensity.

  I curled my body in his direction—just enough so that our knees touched. Instead of watching the guards hustle the rest of the crowds out of the courtroom, I watched our aura's dance and roll around each other. Nevertheless, I felt the curious stares aimed our way.

  Several guards carried Gilleagán's body away. I know not where they took him, nor do I care.

  The rain stopped and the sky brightened; the cool breeze felt good on my sweaty skin. Someone had put out the fire, and the air was fresh again.

  "Where did that oath come from?" I asked Alexander.

  He shrugged and didn't answer for a minute. When he spoke, his voice sounded exhausted. "I don't know. The words just came out." He curled his mouth into a sardonic smile. "It sure seemed to do the trick, didn't it? I expected the crowd to attack. My only concern at the time was stopping them."

  We were silent again as others bustled around us. The amphitheater was nearly empty when he spoke again.

  "Where's Sophia?" Alexander asked, tension burning in his voice.

  "She's with Shamus," I said. "I asked him to take her way."

  "Can we have him bring her back? I'd rather have her where I can see her."

  "Aye." I looked around for someone I could ask to find her, only to see Shamus enter with her through the catacomb doors. Sophia broke away from him and ran to us. Seeing that Alexander still held the sword, she jumped into my lap instead, throwing her arms around my neck and burying her face into my shoulder. Once cuddled there, she burst into tears.

  "There, there, my sweet," I cooed as I petted her dark hair. "All is fine now."

  Alexander cradled his daughter's head with his hand, then leaned over and kissed her temple.

  "She would have nothing but to come back," Shamus said, an apology in his voice. I nodded.

  "Tressa, I'd like to get out of here as soon as we can," Alexander said.

  "Sure and they won't keep us much longer."

  "I mean I want to go home. Back to the real world."

  "Xander..."

  "I know this is the real world to you, but it isn't for me. I need to get back to where I understand how things work. I need to be better prepared for the next time we come back here. I assume there will be a next time?" He looked at me in a way that suggested he would be perfectly happy if I told him no. When I didn't immediately answer, he continued speaking.

  "Yeah, I thought so. Well, I never want to be this unprepared again. I'm asking you to give me some time—on my own turf—to do that."

  "Aye, of course. We'll leave as soon as we're able."

  Shamus cleared his throat. "My Lady, I have become quite attached to the little miss. With Mistress Órlaith gone, I have no one to serve. With your permission I would like to go with you, to care for the wee one."

  I reached out and took the scruffy old Brounie's hand. "We would be honored, Shamus. Thank you."

  A tall, burly guard helped Deirdre down to the floor of the courtroom. Walking slowly, matching the old woman's pace, he escorted her to us.

  She held a hand out in Alexander's direction. He looked at her, puzzled.

  "The sword, boy. Let me touch it," she said testily.

  Alexander looked over to me and I shrugged. He gently placed the hilt into the blind woman's hand. He held the flat sides of the blade, both to hold it steady for her and to ensure it stayed in his possession.

  "Ah, it feels warm to the touch," she said, her expression softening into a look filled with peace and contentment. She ran her fingers over the Celtic knot design on the hilt, learning its shape. Then she reached out and traced the scar on Alexander's right arm. She traced the geometric design on the bracelet he wore before allowing her hand to drop away.

  "So, Nuada's Heir, at last you have come to claim your prize."

  "My prize?"

  "Aye, the King's Jewel. Nuada's heir was always a part of the prophecy. You spoke the oath. And you have Nuada's mark on you," she said, tapping the scar on his arm.

  I had noticed before how the scar that curled out of his palm and ran up his arm created a Celtic knot that resembled the one on the sword hilt, but I hadn't made the connection. Now that she said it, it seemed obvious—the scar marked Alexander as Nuada's heir. Nuada had lost his forearm and hand
in battle. Alexander had lost the use of his arm and hand—also in battle. Nuada had been restored via magic, just as I had restored the strength and dexterity in Alexander.

  The guard who had escorted Deirdre to us leaned in to examine the sword for himself. Alexander eyed him skeptically. I watched his aura extend and wrap around the hilt as he drew it away from both of them, sheathing it in the scabbard that hung between his shoulders. His aura made him one with the sword. Aye, truly he was the rightful steward of the Claíomh Solais.

  "I knew this day would come. Your mother foretold it. Sadly, I will not live to see any of the other treasures."

  "My mother?" Alexander sat up suddenly, the feigned casualness gone.

  "Are you not the son of Neve of the House of Falias?" She waved a hand toward the agate bracelet I had used as a talisman to heal his arm. "Is that not the mark of a hound? The emblem for the House of Falias?"

  When I had carved the bracelet I had merely thought of it as an attractive geometric design. However, it seemed that she was right: the arrangement of various circles that went through the middle of the design could be interpreted as a creative take on a paw print.

  "Neve Falias. Yes, that was my mother's name," Alexander said, a mix of anxiety and excitement in his voice.

  "Surely you know she has a great gift for Darna Shealladh."

  "You said—you're saying—are you telling me my mother is alive?" Alexander sputtered.

  "Her body never returned to her ancestral home. I must conclude that, aye, she is still alive."

  CHAPTER TWO

  We spent two more days in the Otherworld meeting with my Uncle Lomán and various members of his counsel. We explained everything that had led up to Alexander finding the sword. Many among the counsel argued for taking the sword away from him, angry to see a treasure in the hands of a human. Some were so adamant that I feared they might stoop to holding Dominion over him, if they could.

  Alexander grew deathly still each time the subject arose. He had sworn to my grandmother that he wouldn't give it up. They would not get that sword away from him.

  I watched warily, not knowing what would happen if Alexander went against the Council. In the end the King, an avid defender of our ancient prophecies, refused to go against his mother's dictates and quieted the talk of confiscating the sword.

  On our last day in Faery we had an audience with the wise woman, Deirdre. She had agreed to meet with us and tell Alexander all she knew about his family.

  The weather remained cold, but rain had replaced the snow and ice, creating a slushy mess. In spite of the bad weather, we walked from the castle to Deirdre's home in the village. Alexander carried the sword with him as always. Hidden by its unique brand of glamour, no one noticed it.

  Since the trial the public's attitude toward me had flipped again. In my youth, my brethren—confident that I would fulfill the prophecy of the King's Jewel—treated me with adulation. As I grew older and my prospects of being a mother diminished, they began to treat me with disdain, disappointment, and sadness.

  Now, as we walked, people dipped their heads or bobbed a curtsy if they caught my eye. Children ran to me with little gifts of wild flowers or sweets.

  The attention made me long to return to our home in the Human World. Experience had taught me that the public's attention could be fleeting. Compared with my new life, celebrity felt hollow and unrewarding.

  As a couple, Alexander and I were still a curiosity to the villagers of Tír na nÓg. Although exceedingly polite to him in my presence, many of them stared at us when they thought I wasn't looking. A general sense of disapproval still permeated their attitude. They rarely addressed Alexander directly. He was the Sword Bearer—but they counted that as my accomplishment, not his.

  A villager scowled at us as we passed him on the street. The stranger's attitude brought up my ire, along with an urge to defend Alexander. I clasped his hand, turning our wrists and pulling us closer to each other. He smiled down at me, surprised yet pleased by my action.

  "Is there something in the basement of the castle?" he asked suddenly.

  It was such an odd question; I had to think about it. "What do you mean, like dungeons or such? We're not in the middle ages here, no matter how much it may appear that way sometimes."

  "No, I wasn't suggesting that. I just have a feeling we need something that's down there."

  "Do we need it urgently?" I asked. 'I have a feeling' was Alexander's euphemism for his premonitions. In my experience, his premonitions were generally of an urgent nature.

  "No, not particularly."

  "We'll ask Shamus when we get back. He'll know."

  At last we came to a small, grass-covered home built into the hillside. You wouldn't have known it was someone's home if it weren't for the battered wooden door that looked as ancient as Deirdre herself.

  A young Brounie, wearing a simple brown housedress and a scarf over her wiry hair, answered our knock. When she saw us at the door she touched her scarf with a look of dismay.

  "Oh my… oh my goodness… You're here," she said, bobbing and curtsying. "I was just cleaning up. I must've lost track of time."

  "Aye, and 'tis a fine job you have done," I said, peering past her into the small parlor. "Your mistress will be proud."

  "Thank you, My Lady." She curtsied again, beaming from the praise. "Please do come in."

  She settled us into the parlor and scampered off, shortly returning to escort her mistress into the room. Deirdre sat in a big rocking chair made of intertwined branches. The old Sidhe sent the Brounie scurrying away again, asking her to bring us tea.

  "That isn't necessary," I protested.

  "Hmm. Maybe not for you, but my old bones are cold. Join me. I shan't have refreshments alone." Deirdre pushed off with her cane, setting her chair to rocking, her expression resolute.

  A few minutes later the Brounie pushed in an ancient wobbly cart loaded with a fine china decorated with hand painted pink flowers. She poured steaming tea into one of the delicate cups and handed it to me on a saucer. She did the same for Alexander, who held the cup and saucer awkwardly in his big hands. She served her mistress last, placing her cup on the table beside the rocking chair.

  The tea was too hot to drink. I blew across the surface of the scorching liquid.

  "My Lady, how much do you know about the last Unseelie war?" Deidre asked abruptly.

  "Only what they taught me in school, which was just a few decades after the war had ended. So, not much. My elders were still too raw from the experience to boil it down into textbooks," I said.

  The old woman nodded. "It is true. Many to this day won't speak of it, but I have lived through more than one Unseelie war. If I could speak of the wars of old, I can speak of the most recent." She turned her head toward Alexander, seeming to consider things, and nodded again. "Aye, it is right that you should hear this. Perhaps you already know some of it.

  "You see, a leanbh," she said to Alexander, "the last war was less about conquering territory and more about finding the four treasures spoken of in the prophecy. Deaglan Mór seeks the treasures with an intensity far exceeding the Unseelie princes before him."

  She reached for her tea and took a sip before continuing.

  "Your family," she said, lifting her chin toward Alexander, "has always had the gift of Darna Shealladh—of Second Sight. Did you know that?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Alexander said. He rose from his seat and gently placed his teacup back on the cart, as if fearful he would break it.

  "And you? Do you have this gift?" She leaned toward him, making the chair rock forward as she waited for his response.

  I had raised my cup to sip my tea but clanked it down on the saucer, surprised by the question and fearful of how he would answer.

  "No, the gift has passed him by," I rushed to say. Alexander had but a touch of Second Sight. He had the occasional premonition—his 'feelings' or 'hunches'—nothing compared to his mother's talent. Regardless, it was better to deny it. The fa
e tended to be suspicious of humans with unusual abilities.

  Alexander looked at me, a bit puzzled, but didn't contradict me. He may have answered the question the same way, given the opportunity; he wasn't at all convinced that his premonitions were Second Sight.

  "Well, perhaps that's for the best." Deirdre relaxed back in her chair. "Deaglan Mór began hunting anyone who had the Darna Shealladh at the start of the last war, including all of your mother's family."

  "Why?" I asked, stunned. "Why would he do such a thing?"

  Being born the King's Jewel, I had spent my life being hunted by Deaglan Mór. On the day of my birth he had sworn a blood oath to burn me alive—as his ancestors had done with the King's Jewels before me. I hadn't considered who else he would target.

  "He believed—believes—that eventually someone with the Darna Shealladh will tell him where to find the treasures. Not everyone with this gift is from the House of Falias. However, he sought your family in particular knowing that centuries ago, the Falias were the stewards of the Lia Fail. The Stone of Destiny. They say that the stone sings when touched by the true ruler of the Otherworld. It is also said to bring that ruler a long life, and therefore a long reign. Deaglan Mór wants this treasure more than all the others."

  "He hunted my family?" Alexander asked, as if having trouble accepting the magnitude of the statement.

  "Aye. Not all of your kin had the gift, but he tortured any he could get his hands on, trying to make them tell him what they did not know.

  "Your grandmother was the last of the House of Falias to be tortured. While she did not tell him where to find the Stone of Destiny, she shared a premonition he hadn't asked for. She foretold what no one should know about themselves. They say Deaglan Mór faltered the instant he understood her words."

  Alexander and I both leaned forward, listening intently. Stunned by the cruelty in her story, I could barely breathe.

  "What was it?" Alexander asked in a hushed voice. "What was the premonition?"