Light and Dark Eternal Ch. 03

They cleared the largest of the rocks and Thomas was able to pick up more speed. Twenty-five miles long and ten miles across, the island looked as if the same hand that took a chunk out the coast, also did a number on Frith. But instead of a curled hand, it looked like fingers were dragged straight down, leaving furrows of sheer cliffs along the twenty-five mile stretch. Waves pummeled the cliffs with such ferocity, boats couldn't get close. Thomas navigated them through a maze of needle like rocks and the ocean appeared to open up. The glass bottom revealed that to be a dangerous illusion. Seeing the treacherous waters and what lay underneath up close added credence to the legend of the curse, not only laid on the witch finder, but to all those who would try to land on Frith. Only death would be their reward.

They headed for the south side of the island which would take them into Pinter's Cove. The winds beat against the boat and the darkness under the glass was suddenly impenetrable, the shallows giving way to deep water with an active ocean floor, creating cross currents that shifted the landscape. The Unconquered Sun breached a tall wave and they were suddenly outside the entrance to the cove.

"Howling Bay," Thomas said.

Two other glass bottom boats moved steadily over the waves, both filled to capacity. From dead center, the cliffs to either of the entrance looked like two howling wolves, move to the right or left and they were cliffs, move back to center and the wolves snapped into focus, their heads thrown back as they howled a warning to all who'd threaten their charges. The rocks had been weathered over time, creating holes and depressions that transformed the rushing winds into long howls filled with a foreboding that made the hairs on Darby's arm stand up.

"You can see the ships," Thomas said. "The current shifts and the water calms. It happens twice a day and doesn't last long. It's the reason I picked you up in the Unconquered Sun."

Darby and Larken sat down around the railing and kept their eyes glued to the glass bottom. Thomas slowed the boat to a crawl and the wake diminished until the water was barely lapping at the sides. The rolling waves were suddenly gone and it was like a curtain was pulled back. Crystal clear on the ocean floor was a trove of ships.

"The cavalcade of ships," Thomas said.

"It's a museum," Darby said.

"A graveyard," Larken said, quietly. "How many people died in those ships?"

"They were attacking the island," Thomas said. "Luck deserts all who do."

"How did they all sink?" Larken asked.

"Most were tossed onto the rocks by waves," he replied. "Whirlpools will suddenly appear, and some become dangerous incredibly fast. A few ships went down like that. Then there were the ones who out and out attacked. Our ancestors defended their home."

He took them around the entire cavalcade, both Darby and Larken completely absorbed in the ships. As they studied what looked like an old Spanish galleon, Thomas suddenly veered further away from the other boats. The curtain was pulled shut and a wave picked them up. The people in the other boats let out surprised yells and laughter, while Darby and Larken held on, watching a grinning Thomas. He navigated skillfully into the bay as wave after wave tried to topple the boat, and the howl's reached an almost ear piercing crescendo.

Darby watched the breakers hit as they took a specific path through. The howling wind turned into a light breeze, and the water calmed considerably, which was good, Darby's stomach couldn't handle being thrown around by the ocean much longer.

"Pinter's Cove," Thomas said.

"It looks like a postcard," Larken said.

"It is," Darby said. "I saw them on the Sentinel."

Nestled into the gently rising hillside, Pinter's Cove transported visitors to their romanticized ideal of a country village, with the legends of the island adding nostalgia for a place that existed within their childhood imaginations. Narrow roads and broad avenues wound their way through mostly grey stone buildings with white or brown trim around the windows. The homes further up the hillside were variations of grey and brown stone with dark thatched roofs, surrounded by thick gardens and tall trees. In fact the entire village was designed to preserve the trees throughout the cove, with roads splitting in two in some places to accommodate them. On the top of the hill to the right was the Frith Weavers Shear and Shop, selling sweaters and other clothing made on the island. Dominating the hilltop to the left were the walls of Wolf's Head Brewery, the carved howling wolf logo becoming clearer the closer they got.

Boats lined the docks with a couple warehouses on the far side, while the other side of the shore was dotted with businesses and pebble strewn stretches of beach. As they approached the docks, anxiousness slithered up Darby's back and settled between her shoulder blades. She looked at Larken, but her smiling eyes were on Pinter's Cove, giving no hint of discomfort. Her excitement clouded her instincts, but Darby could feel it, the approaching shore was their line in the sand. Once they took the step there was no turning back. Her heart pounded in her ears, and the air almost thickened, wisps of color dancing in her periphery, her body rocking gently with the boat as they glided into the dock. The boat was tied off and secured, then Thomas handed their luggage to the dockhands, and jumped onto the dock. He helped them off the Unconquered Sun and they grabbed their bags.

"Freedom of speech!" a round, bearded man yelled. He was being led towards them by two tall, clean cut, barrel chested men in brown pants and dark blue long-sleeved polo shirts.

"Another one," Thomas muttered, shaking his head.

"Freedom of speech!" the man yelled. "Repent children of Satan! Accept Jesus Christ as your savior and bathe in the light of God!"

"Why do I feel the need to apologize?" Darby said.

"Because we're Americans," Larken said, crossing her arms. "And listening to another American make an ass of himself is embarrassing."

Thomas glanced at her, a hint of appreciation in his eyes. "We get our fair share of zealots preaching salvation. It goes with the territory. But with the challenge to expose us, more of them are showing up every week."

"What challenge?" Darby asked.

"I'll show you later," Larken replied.

"The rapture is coming!" the man yelled. "Do not be left behind to suffer in darkness! Embrace Jesus and submit to the will of God! Be saved!"

"Thomas," one of his escorts said. "We have a guest that needs to be taken to Bellhaven."

"Whores of the devil," the man spat, his dark beady eyes darting between Darby and Larken.

"Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven," Darby said, sweetly. "Especially if heaven is populated with people like you."

Larken smiled and said, "Preach Mama."

The man's face turned a deep, dark purple and he opened his mouth to respond. Thomas stepped forward and said, "Not another word fanatic."

"Your day will come devil!" the man barked. The two security guards pushed him forward and loaded him onto a smaller boat.

Thomas sighed and said, "Let's get you to Mona Bell's."

They walked down the dock, the small crowd that had gathered to watch the zealot being taken away, dispersing. A couple people saw their suitcases, and their faces lit up with curiosity, but Darby barely took notice. Each step felt like hitting another drop on a rollercoaster, the docks rolling underneath her feet. Except they weren't. The rolling was all within her. They bypassed the welcome center and headed for the sidewalk. A swell of unbridled fear encapsulated her and Darby hesitated mid-step. Wind tore through the trees, the branches swaying wildly and she looked up, with everyone else, promptly losing her balance. The moment her foot touched ground all sound was sucked into a vacuum, a gentle silence enveloping her, and then whisking her away.

Circles of light surrounded her, the whisper winds roaring to a crescendo impossible to understand. Day became night and she soared through the skies, the stars moving at lightning speed while the earth simmered and flared below. A magnetic almost electric pull drew her to a point above the woods, and then she was in the garden.

He was on his knees kissing her bare stomach, his hands sliding around her hips and down her legs. Each kiss was a spark, igniting one flame after another, coalescing into an inferno between her legs. A moan welled up from her throat, echoing through her mind followed by a growl of satisfaction. Her back hit a pillar, and she threw her hands up to steady herself, getting them tangled within the vines. Flower petals rained down around her and she smiled the sensation as titillating as his lips all over her body. And his lips were all over, kissing every inch at the same time, which she knew was impossible. The pillar was suddenly warm and her eyes began to glow. He was directly across from her, his back pressed to another pillar, and blazing orbs focused on her. But she could still feel him, kissing, caressing, and worshipping her, body and soul.

A deluge of memories crashed over her, piling one atop the other, each being experienced simultaneously. She'd been to the garden more than she was aware of, and she wondered why she'd failed to remember each visit. The love flowed through and filled them, their souls bound together in the light and dark eternal.

Suddenly tears welled up in her eyes. "I looked for you in the face of every man," she whispered. "Every day I hoped for you, but you never came."

She gasped as his lips separated hers, his tongue licking long and deep. Every moment of love making inundated her senses, each kiss, lick, and caress a brief eternity of ecstasy. They'd had sex way more often than she remembered, their love expressed in pleasurable ways she'd never tried with anyone else. One, five, ten, twenty of him, all at once, his lips on hers, her neck, her shoulders everywhere, and his tongue doing so many wondrous things to her body she thought she might faint. She writhed against the pillar, trying to pull her wrists free from the vines to no avail.

The symbol above his head caught fire, the stone burning brightly, and she felt the one above her do the same. She looked up to see the symbol burning the same color blue as her eyes, the flames dancing around the flowers without setting them alight.

I need you, tickled the back of her mind.

Her hips bucked forward and she cried out, the orgasm stunning her. The arousal instantly rekindled, his phantom hands and lips not at all finished.

I need you my love, resounded through her.

"I need you too!" she yelled, her eyes on his. "I always need you!"

But he wasn't real, and pining for him her whole life had only made love that much more elusive. And then all thought was erased, there was only him, pinning her to the pillar and thrusting his engorged member into her. She screamed as another orgasm ripped through her, his mouth taking it away with a crushing kiss. The amorous fires reignited and with every surge of his hips she felt him deeper in her abdomen, the fires sparking until she was enveloped in blue. His grunts got deeper and the fire in his eyes spread, rushing over his cheeks and chin, down his chest and stomach, and all the way inside her, where own flames were waiting. The moment they met their bodies combusted, the ecstasy bringing tears to her eyes. He didn't slow, he drove himself into her over and over again, their fires chasing each other around and through their bodies until there was no beginning or end.

"We are the light and dark eternal," she said, her voice foreign to her as she tried to catch her breath, the ecstasy almost painful.

We are one my love, filled her heart.

"Always and forever," she practically sang to the stars and all who'd listen.

The ground beneath vibrated like a gong had been struck and the torrential winds surrounded them. She gasped, the remnants of the orgasms making her shiver.

"Ms. Simone? Are you alright?" Darby looked at Thomas, the aftershocks of ecstasy rolling through her. "Your eyes went in and out of focus," he said. "Only for a second, and then it looked like you trembled."

She gave him a smile noticing Larken over his shoulder, in her own world, unaware of their conversation. "It was like the island was floating over waves. I'm fine now. Probably just jetlagged."

That excuse would only fly for so long. Between the monastery and this little jaunt to the garden she wondered if a tumor had taken residence in her brain. That was easier to accept than the alternative, even though she had no clue what the alternative actually was. The torrential wind seemed to disagree with that sentiment setting off a cacophony of twisting leaves and groaning branches. People were looking around in wonder, quite a few laughing. The she understood why, the winds were blowing through the canopy, and only the canopy.

Larken had a faraway look on her face and suddenly she smiled looking at the trees. "Remember my imaginary friends Mom?"

"Vaguely," Darby replied, feeling the need to change her underwear. Thomas was watching them both closely while trying to appear like he wasn't. Darby ignored him and rested a hand on Larken's arm. "They would only appear outside if I'm remembering correctly."

"Because they lived in the trees," Larken said. "I know this sounds crazy, but for a split second I could've sworn..."

"Sworn what?" Thomas asked.

They both looked at him and Larken shook her head, laughing under her breath. "I could have sworn they just said hi, and considering I haven't played with them since I was nine, that's saying something."

"Nine?" Darby said confused. "I thought that ended when you were seven."

"Grandma told me imaginary friends weren't real and to stop talking about them or people would think there was something wrong with me," Larken said.

Darby was floored and then instantly upset. "Songbird I'm so sorry. Grandma should never have said that to you."

Thomas grabbed their bags and started for Mona Bell's, giving them some privacy.

"She meant well," Larken said, with a shrug. "She just didn't want me to become a target."

"Or she wanted to keep your inherent gifts from manifesting." Darby and Larken looked to their left, and a woman with deep brown eyes and hair, and a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks smiled. "Being sensitive to the language of trees is a sign," she said, in a thick Scottish accent.

"A sign of what?" Larken asked.

"That you're a witch."