The
sun had just begun to rise over the town of Strasbourg; however, most
of its inhabitants were already awake and beginning their preparations
for the day’s work ahead. It has been said that the name of Strasbourg
means “the town on the crossroads”, a definition that has come to
perfectly detail the dynamics of this city. Being located on the French
and German border, with the Rhine River moving steadily through year
round, a constant flow of people from innumerable places always came and
went. In that, it is so much like the river, always changing but still
remaining ever so much the same.
It was here that I was born, at the tail end of a modernizing world.
We
lived on a small bit property just outside Strasbourg proper. It wasn’t
a large place, but was just enough that we were able to have two cows,
some chickens, a reasonable garden, and an old three room cottage with a
barn. The barn served not only to shelter the animals, but also as my
father’s woodshop. A majority of the property was heavily wooded, and in
the middle of those trees ran a stream that meandered its way leisurely
toward the Rhine.
By all accounts it wasn’t a lot, but my parents were intensely proud of it.
They’d
settled here just after they were married. For a time they were
genuinely happy, blossoming as much as individuals as they were a
married couple. But their contentment was not to last. My mother was
unable to bear live children.
One
mild mid-November morning, my mother ventured out into their property
in hopes that the sun might lessen her sadness. Thinking herself alone,
it took her quite by surprise when an old and silvered man stepped out
of the very trees she was about to walk into, and began to hobble his
way toward her.
He
seemed familiar, but the fact that she couldn’t place him made her
uneasy. However, he could not sense her apprehension, and upon seeing
her look toward him, gave her a fully toothed smile and a low bow of his
head.
His
entire being beamed with vitality, something completely at odds with
his aged physique. His white beard hung to the middle of his chest,
though it was well trimmed and neat. His hair too was white, but only a
few straggling pieces strayed from a thickly knitted green woolen cap he
wore on top of his head. Although his skin was pale, it was not a shade
that conflicted with his frosted hair to give him an appearance of
being sickly. Instead, his cheeks glowed healthy and rosy, adding all
the more to his air of vigor.
As
he drew closer, she could see that his hands were knobbed and wrinkled;
but Carine was sure they’d be as dexterous as any young man she’d ever
met if put to work. He was thin, but maintained robustness. He was not
bent over, but carried himself upright with great self-possession and
awareness. His mouth was ever smiling, and a surprisingly delicate nose
came to a sharp point on his weathered face. And his eyes—his sparkling
green eyes gleamed with clarity, wisdom, and knowledge.
On top of it all, he was impeccably dressed. Carine liked him immediately.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle,”
he spoke. “An absolutely wonderful day we are having, is it not? I just
could not resist the opportunity of an unexpected sun-warmed winter
stroll . . . the sun,” he voiced on an exhale while opening his arms
wide and lifting his face up toward it, “is good for the bones and the
soul, you know.” Remarking thus, he lowered his face from the sky, and
seemed to radiate its warmth and kindness back to her.
Taken aback by this stranger’s echoing of her own sentiments, she quickly, but warmly replied, “Yes, it most definitely is, Monsieur.
I myself couldn’t resist the opportunity to bask in its warmth and
break up the winter’s gloom either. Though, I must confess, I don’t
think I have ever before appreciated it as much as I have today.
Although winter has barely even begun, it seems as though it has already
been here for quite some time.” With that, she finally offered the
still sunny old man a small smile in return.
“Ah,
yes, the winter has a way of making us quickly remember how much we
love the warmth—though, we are quick to forget it when the summer’s heat
is about to smother us, and we wholeheartedly believe the winter’s cold
cannot return soon enough. Vicious cycle, if you ask me,” and he
waggled his bushy white eyebrows at her while saying this in a voice of
mock authority.
Carine couldn’t help herself; she allowed a small chuckle to escape her lips.
Encouraged, the man preceded, “Bram Macardle, Mademoiselle,”
he said removing his knitted cap, revealing a bountiful crop of shock
white hair and giving Carine a slight bow, “at your service. I apologize
for not having come to introduce myself earlier, but I’ve been out of
country for quite some time. I am your neighbor, just there,” he turned
briefly and gestured behind him, “beyond those trees.”
Carine dipped low in a curtsy, “Monsieur Macardle,
it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Carine Dalton.” She extended her
hand to him, and Macardle placed a formal kiss on the back of it before
he released her. “I had wondered if there was anyone else who lived in
any of the adjacent properties,” Carine explained, “and it makes me very
happy to know that someone indeed does. Come, let me introduce you to
my husband.”
“Yes,
it is always reassuring to know that one is not entirely alone in this
vast world of ours. For the foreseeable future, it is here that I shall
remain. There are others who live within a reasonable proximity,
though,” he paused and stroked absently at his white beard, “though, I
think that I may be the nearest one. Should you or your husband need
anything, consider me at your services. Here, let me help you with your
things.”
Bending,
he picked up the rug that Carine had been sitting on, folded it ably
and tucked it under his arm. He offered her his other.
Taking it, they began walking in the direction of the Daltons’ house and barn.
“I
must confess I am sorry to hear that you are married. I was just about
to begin wooing you before I learned that you belonged to another.”
Carine looked over his wrinkled face, his long white beard, his kind eyes, and again rewarded them both with a rare laugh.
“Yes, I am sure I would have undoubtedly and completely succumbed to your irresistible charms. I consider myself to be very fortunate
for having mentioned my espousal before you began to entice me beyond
resistance.” She smiled fully, chuckling, and giving him a humor-filled
quirked eyebrow. Her long, auburn hair blew lightly in the warm breeze
behind her.
All
the while Macardle gently patted her hand that was tucked under his arm
and chortled to himself. “My dear, had I been even a year younger, I do
not think I’d have had the ability to abstain from pursuing you,
married or not. As it is, I am utterly satisfied at the opportunity of
passing a portion of this blissfully warm afternoon with such a
vivacious and beautiful young woman such as yourself on my arm.”
She humored him, delighting in his candor. Their conversation flowed smoothly as if they had long been friends.
“You said that you had been out of country, where did you happen to go?” Carine asked.
“In
other words, you can hear by my most atrocious accent that I am not
from here. For that, I am sorry. It is always extremely thick when I get
back among my own, and for a time, it makes my French almost impossible
to speak—let alone understand. I’ve been in Ireland, Dublin
specifically. I’ve some family, and occasionally some business matters
to attend to there,” Macardle told her.
“Oh, your accent isn’t that bad
. . . As long as I try not to focus on anything else but your voice,”
Carine jibed, “I am able to understand almost every other word that I
think you might be saying.”
“Och,
lass, ye’ll be woundin’ my pride if yer not careful. I happen to take a
great sense of accomplishment in my grasp of your blasted language. It
only took me twenty-five years to be able to speak it! And even then, it
was all thanks to an ornery, hard-headed, and persistent teacher that I
ever learned. It was my wife who taught me. She was stubborn, fiery,
devilish, and held my soul in her very hands.” His mouth was left with a
bit of a smirk, and though they continued to walk, Carine knew that
Macardle’s mind was happily adrift in frequently repeated memories.
She
allowed him to amble there, focusing instead on her own thoughts of her
husband. They were once again strangers, sharing a room but neither of
them knowing the other well enough to know what exactly the other wanted
or needed.
“Anne
had my heart that very first moment that I saw her.” Bram resumed. “She
had loved her family, and had wanted nothing more than to remain in
Strasbourg. And so, I did my best to expand what business I could to
here. However, for all my efforts, it was necessary to occasionally
return to Ireland and maintain my partnership in the family enterprise.”
Bram
turned to look into Carine’s considerate face. “Despite the fact that
my wife has been dead for these many and long years, I cannot bear to
leave this place. For every time that I do, I feel as though I am
leaving her as well.”
Carine understood his pain all too well, and allowed him to see as much.
He
paused, seemingly grateful for the small courtesy. Looking forward, his
old hand gestured toward the barn, “Ah, this must be where your husband
is. The smell of freshly cut wood is a scent I have always found
intoxicating. Had I not had a family venture to continue, I suspect I
would have gone into carpentry myself.”
With that, Carine nodded appreciatively as Macardle opened the door to Robert’s woodshop.
Bram
continued to visit the couple every day thereafter. Carine’s guess that
Bram had dexterous and capable hands had been entirely right. It wasn’t
but a few moments after meeting Robert that Bram was working beside
him, even lending a master’s touch in ways that left Robert astonished
at the old man’s ingenuity and artistry.
Weeks
later, after enjoying the constant companionship of one another’s
company, Robert slipped off after dinner to find a book he was sure Bram
would enjoy. It was here that Bram pulled Carine hastily to his side.
Making
one quick glance toward the door that Robert had just disappeared into,
Bram just as quickly turned his face toward hers. His green eyes
sparked wildly with flecks of gold that caught in the firelight. Using a
tone she’d not yet heard him speak, he told her, “I’ve something for
you to take to ensure a strong pregnancy. I’ll bring it to you on the
morrow.”
And
just like that, the old man was instantly to be found once again
sitting in the chair that Robert had left him in. His attention was
completely focused on the approaching Robert who was in the midst of
presenting his latest loved book to his friend.
Carine
disappeared into the couple’s bedroom shortly after the curious
confrontation with Bram, leaving the men deeply in discussion and warmed
through with brandy. She rubbed her arm softly. It was bruised where
he’d brought her to attention. She’d known that Bram was stronger than
he appeared, but he was even more so than she’d anticipated.
That
night she dreamed of walking through a meadow on an
uncharacteristically warm winter’s day. Tightly, she clasped the hand of
her child in her own, as they enjoyed the warmth together.
She
awoke late the next morning. The lowing of a cow had woken her. Robert
lay beside her, still sleeping off his evening nightcap. Quietly she
stirred from bed, shutting their bedroom door behind her. Still in her
nightclothes, she crouched before the fire and lightly blew on the
ashes, hoping that some were still warm enough to catch. They began to
glow red with her breath, and kindling soon coaxed them into a flame
that turned to a steady fire.
She
dusted off her hands and turned to her pile of clothes which she had
placed on the table, having every intention of then dressing herself
completely. However, the presence of a small melon sized leather pouch
on the table diverted her attention entirely. She picked it up, noting
its lightweight but nonetheless dense packing.
A
note had been folded and placed under the bundle. She held it to the
growing firelight to read it. A strange feeling balled in the pit of her
stomach as she read the brief message.
Use these leaves to brew a strong tea.
Drink in the morning, and again in the afternoon.
Do so daily for one month.
Should you need more, ask.
-B. Macardle
When
had Bram left this? He’d mentioned bringing something by the following
day, but she had not expected it to be waiting on her table when she
woke. She took a quick look around the room, and felt relieved to find
that Bram was not in the room with her.
She placed the pouch and note back on the table, and while hurriedly dressing, wondered over when they had been left for her.
Robert awoke soon after, a lazy smile gracing his face.
“Good morning, ma belle. Did you sleep well?”
Carine smiled warmly and nodded, accepting his kiss upon her cheek.
“I
haven’t felt the desire to not get out of bed so strongly since I was a
rangy youth,” he said, turning Carine away from the stove and kissing
her again. “I’ll be out at the shop, I’ve got some great ideas for a few
armoires that I need to commit to paper before I forget. Would you mind
bringing breakfast out to the barn for me?”
“Of course,” Carine managed to babble.
“Thank you, mignon.
And, if it’s not too much trouble, would you bring an extra plate for
Bram? I never know just when he’ll show up in the morning, I only know
that he will.”
“Yes,
that is no trouble at all. I’ll bring out the plates and some coffee.
As for now, go, you’re distracting me from cooking these eggs.”
Robert
smiled back. He feigned a swagger as he crossed the room to the door.
He stood in the doorway, looking back to give Carine an appreciative nod
before he closed the door behind him and walked out to his barn.
Carine
gave an amused snort. He hadn’t been this way in months. Instantly, she
thought of Bram’s pouch, and wondered if perchance the old man had
given Robert something as well. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if he
had.
After
taking both plates to the barn and feeling a huge sense of relief that
Bram was not yet there for her to face, she stopped at the well before
returning to the house. She was entirely settled on her decision. She
put the kettle on to boil, and filled the tea steeper carefully with the
dried leaves from Bram’s pouch. They looked like any other tea leaves
and had no unique aroma. But regardless of the tea’s lack of uniqueness,
she was willing to try anything that might help them. Anxiously, she
watched her teacup as the first cup of Bram’s mysterious tea brew.
It was surprisingly pleasant.
She enjoyed her second cup that afternoon just as much she had the first.
That
night had been filled with the lovemaking of two people who’d been
desperate for the touch of the other. Their routine continued this way
for a month.
The
day after she ran out of tea leaves, she noted that she was a week late
on her courses. There was no doubt that she was once again pregnant.
Nine months later, and two weeks earlier than was expected, I, Daine Caradoc Dalton, was born.
YOU CANNOT CHANGE THE LIFE YOU’VE BEEN GIVEN.
All
that you can do is make the most of what you’ve been dealt—fight a good
fight, resist being beaten by circumstance, and hope that somehow,
despite it all, you’re able to accomplish the impossible.
But even then you cannot change the fact that you were born cursed.
I am one of those unlucky few upon whom the Curse of the Four Fathers has fallen.
It
is I who must bear the burden of having a life that is unchangeably
intertwined with the Fae. A sorrow made all the more great by knowing
that where they are tragedy, loss, misery, and despair most assuredly
follow.
As
a Druid it is my responsibility to uphold the boundaries that keep the
worlds of the Tylwyth Teg, and our own, separate. As a man it is my only
ambition to protect the family and woman I so desperately love.
The only problem: I’m not sure this curse will allow for me to do both.
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Genre - Paranormal Fantasy, Horror
Rating – PG-13
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Website https://www.mariemckean.com
