"That's it! Feet apart! Keep your balance! Watch my shoulders -- they're the only thing that will tell you what I'm going to do next." The armsmaster swung the heavy blade at his trainee who easily ducked out of the way. "That's good, Rane. Now attack me. Come on, put a little strength into it. Good!" She was fast and a quick learner, the armsmaster definitely had to give her credit for those aspects. Yet she did not have the wish to master the weapons and therefore would never be a great fighter. But he knew something would one day force her to wake up and realize that though she might despise it, she had to learn it and learn it well. "That's enough. It's your brother's turn now. You're doing well -- now if you would ever find the heart for it . . . "
"You know I wish to have nothing to do with violence, Master. All I want to do is become a Bard. I do not see why I have to learn this and magery -- magery on top of everything to become a Bard!"
The armsmaster fixed a stony glare on her. "Your highness, you know that you can never become a Bard. You are the heir to the throne and nothing can change that."
Rane sighed and bowed her head, brown hair falling into green eyes. "Indeed I do bear that heavy weight. It's not fair though -- all I want is to be a Bard -- I do not want power and a throne."
The armsmaster reached over to pat her shoulder. "Not everything in life happens like we would want, your highness. But know this, if you do become Queen you will rule honestly and fairly. You are being taught the ways of the old -- the ways of righteousness and truth. Never forget anything you have learned and you will rule not because you have to or because you were born to the wrong family as a child, but because you will want to. I have heard of a certain feeling that overcomes the royal family sometimes. The feeling that people need them and that they need to help the people." He shrugged, "That is what I have heard at least."
The young princess smiled up at him. "I think you just might have lightened my heart a little, Master."
*
". . . I saw the last stroke of Mordred go through his body and watched him slowly and painfully fall to the ground. Merlin and I were the first to reach his side, and I held the King's head in my hands while Merlin quickly started chanting a healing spell. I fed Arthur some of my energy and life, yet even I, as weak a mage as I was, could feel him slipping away like a boat in the night. Others had reached us by this time and crowded around though not close enough to impede upon Merlin's and my work. After a while Merlin stood up and declared that the King was beyond his power to heal. A great gasp rose through the crowd, and Merlin held his hand up for silence. He claimed there was an island, Avalon he called it, where the King could be healed and when he was well, would return once again to lead the people. He ordered that only he and I should make the journey with the King and the people nodded, knowing we were the only mages in the country. We left, the King on a stretcher between us, and from then on, I have sworn to everything I find holy not to utter a word about it for the knowing and whereabouts of Avalon must remain a mystery . . .
" . . . I fought with Joan of Arc -- we were blood sisters having known each other our whole lives and I upheld her will with all I could give her. She was full of bravery and even when men quailed at something, she stood tall, knowing that what she said and did was right. In the future, people would claim her crazy because she heard voices within her head, yet I know she was not crazy -- she was as sane as I and a great bit more courageous than I could ever dream of becoming. When they captured her, they made me sit next to them and watch her burn. As the flames started to lick at her skin, a terrifying scream echoed throughout the crowd and my first thoughts were that it was Joan's. But no, her mouth was clenched tight and I realized they were my cries. " Robyn's voice trailed off. "Should I go on?"
Mrs. Harlin, a history teacher at Mt. Kendrey High held out her hand and Robyn Fox, after closing the blue covers, delicately placed a book on the white palm. Flipping open the cover, Mrs. Harlin turned to the front page and noticed the date, written in a small script on the bottom left side of the page.
"1662," she murmured to herself. She squinted and lowered her head toward the ancient book. "'To His Majesty, King Charles II, from Lady Ileane.' Where did you find this book, Robyn?"
"One of my friend's grandfathers gave it to me," she replied. "He knew about my interest in history and when he died he left me that book. I've read it so many times that I've practically got every word memorized. I figured I should give other people the chance to look through it and learn what they can. That's why I brought it to you today, Mrs. Harlin."
"Thank you, Robyn. And trust me when I say I will look through the book. It looks incredibly interesting especially since it's written in first person."
Robyn smiled. "I hope you find it informative. But I must be going -- I'll see you tomorrow in class."
"Have a good afternoon," her teacher said to an already retreating back.
*
How long has it been since I've last worn silk? she wondered as she slipped into a dress. Bright green eyes -- eyes that seemed too old for her age -- stared out of a square face framed by shoulder length dark brown hair. She wore a green silk dress that matched her eyes and fell to the floor in folds, showing her bare shoulders. Staring at the mirror in front of her, she could barely believe how the reflected person looked. Everything about her was exquisite -- pert nose, full mouth, perfect figure from years of work. A loud knock echoed throughout the room and with a slight smile she opened the door to reveal the Grand Duke.
"Milady," the Duke grandly bowed. "You look beautiful."
She blushed and wondered how long it had been since she had done that also. "Thank you, milord."
The Grand Duke held out a hand and she took it, still slightly blushing at his words. Silently they walked to the ballroom where the King was holding his Coronation party.
"The Grand Duke William and the Lady Ileane," a page announced their arrival as they entered the room.
It seemed to Ileane that the moment they entered the room, everyone fell silent and watched her entry, noticed her face and questioned the seemingly old eyes. The feeling lasted a second and then was gone before she could even be sure it had existed.
"My Duke William," the new Queen sidled up to him, her golden crown glimmering in blond hair. "It's wonderful to see you this evening. And Lady Ileane, you look . . . like you're here."
Ileane grimaced as the Duke softly brought the Queen's hand to his mouth. "Thank you for inviting me, my Queen."
"I would love to talk to you longer, Duke, but other people require my attention. Shall we speak later?" She flashed a stunning smile at him.
"As you wish, my Queen." He watched as the Queen made her way through the crowd, obviously headed toward the Duke of Hampshire. "Gods, how I despise that woman." Ileane glanced up at him, surprise crowning her face. "Just because she's now Queen she thinks that every man in the kingdom is more than willing to share her bed and since I always tell her 'no' she chases even harder." Ileane laughed and the Duke shot her a disapproving smile. "It's not that funny."
"You could always run away with me," Ileane kidded. "We would have the grandest adventures."
The Duke threw his head back and laughed. "Lady Ileane, I know how to hold a sword but that's about it."
"Oh," Ileane puckered her lips. "Yes, I can see how that would create a problem." She looked up at the Duke, smiling into his eyes. "But let's not think of such things. Can we not both enjoy an evening without having to think about our normal lives?"
"Do you dance?" The Duke made a slight motion with his hand toward the dancing floor.
"Dance?" the word sounded unfamiliar in her mouth. She had not gone through the motions of dancing in years, in fact, had hardly thought about the act. "I believe I do now that I think about it." She grinned. "I only had, what, ten years of lessons?"
"Really?" The Duke asked, his face inquisitive. "Someone must have wanted you to really learn it. I only had five."
It was then that she heard the voice -- the voice that sometimes called to her yet was always in her mind. Although a touch of fear crossed her thoughts, she made sure her face showed none of her inward worry.
"If you will excuse me, Duke, I need to go outside and catch some fresh air."
"Would you like me to accompany you?" The Duke's face mirrored worry.
"No," she shook her head while slipping her hand out of his grasp. "I won't be too long."
She walked toward the balcony, taking deliberate steps so that she would not break into a frightened run for she knew what awaited her and it terrified her to the bone. As she stepped outside, a cold wind covered her, and she shivered, not just from the cold.
"Where are you, Dark One?" she whispered. "I heard you in there and since you just ruined my night, I think it would be polite of you to show yourself."
In the darkness she saw some of the shadows gather together into the mold of a man. Only her eyes, eyes trained to peer into darkness and see that which was not there, could tell the difference.
"Oh, Rane, how long has it been since we last fought? How long since the Light and Dark last danced that so deadly song?" The voice grated like metal on metal and a shiver made the way up Ileane's back.
"No one has called me that in a long time, Dark One," Ileane answered. "Most people have even forgotten that there once lived a person by that name. And as for the fight, it has not been long enough."
The shadow laughed, sounding like metal scraping past metal, and Ileane nearly fell to the ground to cover her ears from the sound. "We should never forget our past, Rane. That is the name I first knew you by and that is whom you will always be." The shadow started to break up, and the pieces melted into their proper places on the ground. "We will dance soon enough," the fading voice promised her, and she knew it to be true.
*
"Hey, Robyn, wait up," Jake Redstone called, stretching his long legs to reach his friend. "What was that you gave to Mrs. Harlin?"
"Just a book I had lying on my shelf," Robyn evaded. "Don't you have tennis practice right now or something?"
Jake smiled. "Coach gave us the afternoon off. I'm not going to complain." He paused, gathering up a bit of courage. "What are you doing tonight?"
Robyn looked at him, green eyes reflecting her sly smile. "Why?"
"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to see a movie with me," he blushed and glanced at the floor.
She grinned at his discomfort. "I would love to, Jake."
"Really?" he looked at her incredulously.
"Yes, really," she laughed and for a moment a heavy weight lifted from her shoulders.
"Then I'll pick you up at eight o'clock?"
Robyn nodded. "That will work. Do you know where my house is?"
"Yeah, I took you home one time earlier this year. Remember?"
"That was, gods, three months ago," she replied. "You must have a great memory."
Jake blushed. "It works." He raised an eyebrow. "And why 'gods'?"
She shrugged. "Just a saying that I picked up a few years ago. It doesn't mean anything really."
A few hours later he knocked on the carved oak door that opened up into the two story house where Robyn lived. Awe in his eyes, he studied the huge house with Victorian columns for in the small town where they resided one story houses usually prevailed over everything else. The door creaked open, badly in need of oiling, and Robyn peered out from around the side.
"Come in for a moment, Jake. I just need to do something really quickly." She disappeared down a hallway as Jake peered open mouthed at his surroundings.
A lonely painting and a number of sculptures lined the entryway. In the painting what seemed to be a shadow holding a black sword was fighting a young woman with green eyes, shoulder length brown hair, and a long white cloak in a small clearing circled by tall trees.
"Where'd you get this painting, Robyn? It's beautiful."
"My parents love collecting weird things and that's just one of the many in their collection. It's an even better painting when you know the historical significance behind it," she proclaimed from another room.
"And what would that be?" Jake wondered.
"According to legend the girl is named Rane. She was born in the medieval times, a princess, yet charged with a terrible destiny. When she turned seventeen a terrible darkness descended upon her land and she fought it -- she was the only one who could. Stories go on to say that she is still alive and continues to battle the shadow and that their fight will continue until one can actually beat the other in combat." She paused. "The saddest thing about the whole story is that Rane didn't want the life of a warrior. She wanted to be a Bard."
"So how did she get chosen for this job?"
Robin entered the room and shrugged. "Only the gods know."
*
He's gotten better this time, learned a few new tricks in the years since our last meeting, Ileane thought. That's okay though because I've learned some new tricks too.
It was a month after the Coronation Party and the Dark One's words had proved true too early for her liking. Yet, when she had gotten up that morning and climbed onto the back of her horse, tossing a white cloak over her shoulders, she knew that the day was at hand for a meeting. The sword she had grabbed from the dead hand of the armsmaster who had first taught her still hung at her side, as it had for the past six hundred years. She had headed immediately toward the woods that stood on the edge of her property, ready for anything the Shadow Lord would throw at her. For once, though, the Dark One remained silent until they faced each other in the light of a clearing.
Instinctively she created a magical shield around herself and followed the bond that gave her her powers. Once she had been linked to the earth, drawing its powers and making it her own, but now the bond led into the universe, not only giving her magic but immortality too.
Slowly she withdrew her sword from the scabbard, holding it lightly in both hands as she had learned when she was ten years old. During the time she wandered the world she had discovered that fighting, though something she despised, was like music in its own right. Two figures flowed together in harmony, creating a symphony with their graceful movements and steel ringing on steel. As the Dark One too settled into his position she felt the music within her start to play and instantly, the two were brought together into the melody.
Their swords rang against the other, lightening danced, and fireballs threw themselves at their opponent. Always that melody told her what her opponent would do and what she would do in defense. Like a piece of music, one part of the melody would sometimes have the upper hand, forcing the other into near oblivion but then the other part would rise up, and the swords would once again be a blur to any watchers. By the end of the song, the melody, the two twined together to become one, was tired, and neither had overcome the other. It was how it always ended and how it would continue to be as long as there were humans on the planet who were good and evil or any combination between. The two fought, and created the music, so that neither would gain an edge over the other and thereby rule the world through the humans. Often she wondered if the endless struggle was worth the fatigue it caused, wanting nothing more than to give up. Shuddering, she knew that without her to even out the presence of the Dark One, the world would fall under his malevolent shadow. She could not allow such a thing to happen to her worst enemy -- even the one standing in front of her. Seeming to melt into the ground, the Dark One retreated to gather his strength, leaving the promise of another fight that would come again some other day. With an eternally tired sigh, Ileane walked to where she had left her horse tied up and headed home as the sun climbed down the sky.
*
Rane woke up screaming, her body bathed in sweat. For the fourth night in a row she had had the same dream of a man made of shadows who brought darkness with him. Suddenly her bedroom doors crashed open, hitting the walls on either side, and a man stumbled into the white light of the moon.
"Rane?" She recognized the voice of her armsmaster. "Where are you?" There was a sense of panic in his strained voice.
"I'm here," she scrambled out of bed and headed towards her friend and mentor. "What's wrong?"
"Rane," the armsmaster turned to face her as someone from the darkness of the hallway jumped into the room, sword drawn. Without warning, the intruder planted his sword in the armsmaster's back and the armsmaster fell to the floor, his sword clattering on the stone.
For a moment Rane stood, frozen and open-mouthed, staring at the body of the man who had been breathing just a few seconds earlier. When the intruder took a step toward her, she broke out of her reverie, leaped over to where the sword of the armsmaster had fallen, and scooped it up.
"Why are you here?" she angrily questioned.
The man hungrily smiled. "To kill you."
She gaped, dumb-founded, at the man. "Why?"
"Because the Dark Lord wishes it," the man replied, launching himself at her in a blur.
Instantly, Rane dipped into the well of magic and, with a single quick word, set him on fire. The intruder halted and screaming, dropped to the ground, trying to beat out the flames which had immediately engulfed him. Soon after, all movement stopped and for the first time in her life, Rane smelled death. Gagging, she dropped the sword and fell to her knees, sobbing into her hands. After only a few moments, she gathered her wits, put her feet underneath her, and wandered into the hallway, looking for other signs of the slaughter.
Suddenly, she cried out and the ground rose up to meet her. The link which she held with the earth and its magic burned her, sharp pain climbing its way into her mind. From around a corner stepped the man she had dreamed of, the man of shadows, grinning at her.
"Good," he said, stepping toward her. "You have not yet completed the transformation." He withdrew his dark sword, raised it above his head, and as Rane watched with helpless wide eyes, plunged the end through her heart.
She felt nothing, even the pain within her head had stopped. But she could still feel the bond of her magic, holding her in life, tying her with the universe, making her one with the world. It was with that sense that she realized she had not died, that she would never die as long as the universe was alive.
*
"I had a wonderful time, Jake. Thank you very much for taking me out." Robyn opened the car door and stepped out.
Jake smiled and followed her lead. "I don't suppose you would want to do it again sometime?"
Robyn threw her head back and laughed. "I don't suppose I would mind too much at that." Just then a strange darkness invaded her senses. No, she thought. Not now, not when I'm not ready. Yet something within her felt different, like the upcoming fight was to be danced to a little different melody than usual, and she wondered if it had anything to do with shy, normal Jake. "Jake, you need to go."
Something must have shone through in her voice or eyes because Jake suddenly stared into her face, eyes squinted, trying to catch the thing he was missing. "You're her, you're the girl in the painting," he quietly murmured to himself. "But that's impossible. It's just a story." Yet his eyes tried to peer into her soul and figure out exactly who she was.
"Jake, get out of here," Robyn warned again as she sprinted into the house and found her sword lying on the bed where she had left it.
"What's going on?" Jake had followed her.
"Leave this place," Robyn ordered. "This isn't a part of your fight."
"Are you the girl? Rane, you called her. Are you her?" Jake's position indicated that he would not be going anywhere until she answered the question.
After a deep breath to calm her nerves she nodded. The darkness was becoming more overwhelming by the second and she knew the Dark One would appear any moment. "Now get out of the house. Run as far away as you can."
"No," his cry followed her as she ran down the stairs and out onto the front lawn. "I want to help you."
"You can't," Robyn replied. "This isn't your fight."
"But I want to make it mine. I want to help you," Jake followed her and gasped. The shadows from the house, trees, and everything else that cast such a thing were gathering into the mold of a human body. "What is that thing?"
Robyn turned toward him, eyes wide. "You can see him?" As Jake nodded she studied the boy with new eyes. "Maybe you can be of help." She pointed to a small grove of trees a few yards away. "But stay hidden in there just in case he tries some dirty trick." Jake pivoted, starting toward the trees. "Wait," Rane called and Jake stopped, half-turning. "I want you to have the painting after all this is over." Jake met her eyes, seeing what she had guessed, and then nodded and quickly ran to safety, his courage from a few moments ago suddenly gone at the reality of the upcoming battle. Perhaps, Robyn thought as she watched his retreating back, perhaps he can give me the slight edge I need to beat the Dark One. Then the music began inside her head and she turned to face her foe.
*
"I write the story of Rane, a young princess who survived through centuries, keeping the human race from falling into darkness, and the world has never known of her. I tell her story so that the world may know of her courage and her life . . . " Jake stared at the computer screen, still not sure of where to start. Suddenly, he shrugged and for pages wrote wherever his mind took him. " . . . From a grove of trees I saw the fight, watched every spark that flew into the night. It was a beautiful sight to behold, a dance more than anything else with every step taken to an internal melody. Swords crashed, thunder cracked, lightning smoldered, and neither could touch the other. Slowly the fight wound down, each growing tired for no edge had been won. As the last hit was being delivered, a flash of . . . nothing . . . rocked the land. And when I write nothing, I mean nothing for the two canceled each other out. I am not sure exactly what happened nor will I probably ever know. But when the flash was gone neither fighter remained and I could find nothing of their existence. I do not know if they are gone forever or if they are in another part of the world. Will we ever know the truth of what happened?" He glanced at the painting that hung above his computer, fixating upon the oldest green eyes that had ever seen the world. Slightly shaking his head, he withdrew his gaze and once again started typing. "I do not know."