Dark Confluence (10 page)

*

Chapter 8

By the time, Jen awoke the next morning the last of the rain had cleared. Opening the door to the garden, a brilliant blue sky greeted her, marred only by a few clouds driven by a fresh and cool southerly breeze, dispelling the high humidity of the last few days. Outside, the greenness of the hills and paddocks was bright enough to hurt the eyes and lilting birdsong banished any residue anxiety. Faced with such a glorious day, it was hard to believe any imperfection could be present in the world. Jen immediately decided that such a day did not warrant time spent with her nose to the computer screen. Rather a long walk and a hot breakfast after beckoned her outside.

Quickly, she dressed and locked the house, and walked down the few stairs to the springy grass of the lawn. The air was almost intoxicating, she breathed deeply of it, feeling her skin tingle in response. Reaching the road, she randomly chose a direction and began to stroll. Her shoes crunched along the gravel edge of the bitumen occasionally disturbing small insects which startled, flew away from her. Every so often, a car would rush past in a blur of metal and noise. After a few minutes, she turned off the road and clambering through a barbed wire fence, walked out into one of the neighbouring paddocks.

The paddock had seen much rain and little grazing so the grass had grown to reach her knees. Mindful of snakes, she picked up a long stick, which had evidently blown in by the storm, and hit the ground ahead of her. The unaccustomed exercise brought a rose to her normally pale cheeks and she looked for a good place to sit. Eventually she espied a clump of granite boulders off to one side and determinedly made her way to them. Most of the boulders were too steep to scramble up, however Jen found one she could clamber onto and sat panting with exertion.

The view from the boulder was tremendous and Jen just sat staring out at the green and lush landscape. She could see a tractor working on of the fields in the distance, yet heard nothing, the wind taking the sound in the opposite direction. Above her, black cockatoos flew, looping and diving, catching the wind gusts. Off to one side a bunch of crows circled and called. Perhaps some stock had died. Remembering the lost child, Jen decided she would investigate before she returned home.

“You pick the wild and lonely places to do your contemplation,” a familiar voice said suddenly.

Jen jumped in surprise and turned around to encounter the leaf-green eyes of the one who had called himself Fionn. On the other hand, was it Fionn? She narrowed her eyes, this time he seemed much older, an elegant, mature man in his late forties with a face attractively lined. He was dressed differently this time, the jeans were gone, and instead he wore a black jacket and collared shirt, and black dress trousers. His long pale ash hair still hung about his shoulders. A pale clay pipe poked out of his jacket’s top pocket.

“You!” she said.

He nodded smiling.

“I’ve been warned about you,” she accused.

“I’d not harm you, Jen,” he said, lithely springing up to sit next to her on the rock. Idly, his hand covered hers, which made her heart jump.

“So what do they say about me?” he asked, smiling at her. She felt her bones melt under his warm gaze.

“No...not...ab...about you,” she stammered, blushing deeply.

“About what I am?” he asked her directly, his fingers lightly brushing hers.

She nodded silently, her face suffused with a scarlet blush.

“Then, what am I, in that I cannot be trusted?”

“Fairy,” she finally breathed.

He looked suddenly vexed, as if he objected to the name. “So I am caught out. Who enlightened you?”

Jen stared at her boots, her emotions transfixed upon the play of his fingers upon her hand.

“A friend,” she murmured quietly.

He studied her face, “Do I disturb you Jen...Jenny of the sweet heathery hills of home.” He leant and breathed in her ear, “Your kind calls to us as bees to pollen laden flowers.”

“My kind?” she gasped, her head spinning.

“You, who see us and hear us, your voice is a siren song to me, sweet Jenny.”

His hand reached up and turned her face to his. Gently, he kissed her, and her lips surrendered to his. He tasted of honey, cinnamon and smoky duskiness.

“I would have you sweet Jenny. I would have you here now, upon these rocks. I would fill your empty heart with overflowing love.” He kissed her again, this time his fingers moved from her hands to roam across her body.

“No,” she breathed, half-heartedly attempting to break away from him. “You are not to be trusted.”

He smiled at her protestations and slid his hand beneath her shirt. She gasped and felt an unfamiliar hot and rushing heat flood her body.

“You want me too,” he whispered against her mouth. “Why deny what your body demands?”

“No!” she half slid off the rock to face him. Her face was flushed and her clothes in disarray. “You are not human, how can I trust one who...”

He smiled gently at her, “How many times, my Jenny, do I have to tell you that I wish you no ill.”

Jen closed her eyes to his leaf-green gaze and tried to ignore the overpowering sexual pull of the man half lying upon the rocks.

She shook her head and turned away, ignoring the cry of her own body, a body so long denied pleasure and love. “I cannot trust one as you.” Even to her own ears, her pleas sounded hollow.

She heard him slide off the rock, and she felt, not heard him come behind her enfolding her again in his arms.

“I will have you, Jenny of the old lands,” he whispered against her hair. “If not now, then another time, it is fated you see. We will come together, you and I. Your body sings to me and I am in its thrall.”

She pulled away again, shaking her head. “Please leave me be.”

“I cannot,” he admitted. “However, I will honour your wishes.” He turned her to face him and his face was strangely serious, “Although, you deny yourself pleasure, my Jenny, my express purpose was to give you warning this day.”

She stepped back out of his arms, giving herself space to breathe and collect her shattered senses.

“I need no warning now, your presence is warning enough,” she muttered darkly.

“No, you misunderstand...I am a herald, a messenger, for the great powers who come after me.”

She stared at him, her knees trembling again at the perfection of his face. She saw that he was in a state of arousal and her face grew scarlet. She looked away, anywhere but at the fairy-man with his imploring, beautiful face and pleading hands.

“My message to you comes from the powers that are the two great Courts of the Fae. Their message is that you must stop what is being done here,” he said to her, his words oddly formal, his face a study of seriousness and lust.

Jen stared at him. “Courts? What courts? Stop what is being done?” She shook her head in confusion, “I don’t understand.” She took another step back, “No! Why should I do what you want? You have given me no reason to trust you, or your word.”

His eyes flashed green, “I may be of the Sidhe, but I am still a man of my word.”

“You are no man,” Jen breathed.

He grinned suddenly at that, then he too stepped back, “Very well, I shall leave you in peace, Jenny. My message has been given and you will see no more of me.”

“No more,” she whispered, her heart breaking. Against her will, she desperately longed for his touch, to taste him again on her lips.

He smiled suddenly and his hands lifted as if to reach for her again. “See, your body cannot be deceived, yet my word stands. I will not come until you call me by my true name, and when I come, I will not be denied again. It is your choice, my Jenny.”

Turning away Jen firmed her resolve. “I will not need your true name!” Jen declared, against the wishes of her own longings.

“Yet I will still give it to you,” and on the breeze a word was given, whispering. Against her will, she remembered it. She heard him sigh, and knew instantly that it was a binding thing, this giving of true names. Desperately, she tried to forget it, yet insistently it clung to her memory. She turned to protest, but he was gone, and the morning dulled in the absence of his presence.

Jen sank to the grassy ground, tears falling. She desperately wanted the fairy-man, wanted him as she had never wanted anything or any man before in her life. She sobbed out her longing, yet she innately knew that succumbing to him would mean bitterness and a grief beyond imagining. She vowed never to utter his true name, vowed to deny herself the love and pleasure she most craved. Jen understood sacrifice, she knew that this sacrifice had to be endured in order to avert a greater sin. She would
not
surrender. Eventually, she picked herself up and brushed the dew-wet grass from her jeans. The morning had lost its lustre and Jen felt drained of the joy that she had experienced earlier. Dragging reluctant feet, she ploughed on through the paddock to investigate the still-circling crows.

The cow had endured an ugly death. Jen stood back a bit from the carcass, whilst covering her nose and mouth, and stared at it in horror. The expression in the now blank eyes spoke to her of infinite pain and fear. Going by the slashing wounds upon the hide, the cow had not died well or quickly. Jen thought that only feral dogs might do such injury, dragging a large prey animal down until it died. This might be the work of dogs, or wolves. However, Australia possessed no wolves in the wild. It would have to be a large feral dog pack. Yet Jen instinctively knew that something else had caused the death of the cow, something that was not of the natural world. She turned away, sickened by the sight. If there had been a brand upon the cow to indicate ownership, then it no longer was visible. Looking around, she again saw the tractor, working this time in a neighbouring field. She called out and waved, finally alerting the farmer. She waited, whilst he drove to the fence line, then stopping the tractor, he got out and walked over to where she stood. She looked at him and his face was unfamiliar to her.

“G’day lady, what’s wrong?”

She pointed to the cow, “Is she one of yours?”

He stared at the mutilated animal and shook his head, “Nope, however I do know who does. Bob Jenkins owns this field. Did you find her?”

She nodded. “I was out walking and followed the crows. Was thinking about that missing young child and thought I’d best investigate.”

“Yup, bad business that,” he said his mouth tight. “Still not found and worse still, another went missing yesterday.”

“Another!” Jen’s hand flew to her mouth.

He shook his head, “Little girl this time, scarcely old enough to crawl, let alone walk. She vanished from her bedroom in broad daylight. I heard it on the two-way radio this morning. The police seem to think that a predator is working the area.”

“Good God!” breathed Jen in shock.

“Don’t think God has much to do with these vanishings,” the farmer said abruptly. “Although church-folk might find comfort in praying. These lowlifes seem to operate outside of God’s laws.”