Mary-Cade Mandus - The Spell Bound

The ministrations of rough, wet tongues, one large, one small, upon his face brought Torin around. Attempting to sit up, his head grew light, dragging him back. An arm caught and supported him, an offering of cool water pressed against his lips. The liquid refreshed and cleared his mind, quickening his woozy thoughts, somewhat. Croakily requesting another sip, he drained the cup then choked deeply as fire lanced his raw palms and torn shoulder. Something that bit and seared like nettles was being smeared into his wounds. A firm but gentle hand held him in place, a man’s voice spoke soothingly in his ear. Dozens of voices seemed to buffet him from all sides. There appeared to be a crowd of people in the yard for he could feel the air stir as they moved about him. Who they were, he couldn’t tell for his vision was blurred.

Fighting to stay conscious he attempted to concentrate on something other than the agony his body was experiencing. Warm clover-scented breath blew gently over his face, silky fur tickled under his chin. The figures of a horse and cat fluctuated in his sphere of sight. One disquieting feature he was able to make out - their muzzles were stained with blood. With a start, he realized it was his.

Solace!

It all came flooding back - Mrs. Crockery, Tom Foolery, the field… A terrible fear empowered and spurred him on. Wrestling from the restraining arms, he stumbled to his feet. Pivoting unsteadily he blearily scoured the area for any sign of the witch but his impaired vision made it impossible to discern her shape.

Solace!

Amid cautioning shouts he stumbled toward the wall. Clinging with bandaged hands to the disfigured rock he shook his head in a vain attempt to clear his eyes then pounded the wall in frustration. With a suddenness that took his breath away his vision cleared and the field came into sharp focus.

The flower still stood.

Sagging weakly, his shoulders shook with dry sobs. Through some magical intervention Odile had been stopped and Solace saved.

Then, in the midst of unbelievable happiness…misery twined her lonely arms around and drew him close for company.

He’d failed. Something he’d done…not done, had changed the order of things. The spell had not broken as the legend foretold. Solace remained enchanted.

Despondent, he allowed solicitous hands to draw him toward the house, distractedly noting along the way that every servant employed at the manor appeared to be milling about the yard. [Never could he recall ever having seen but two outside before - Tom Foolery and Mrs. Croc…Odile.] They stood in small groups or wandered alone, their manner awkward and unsure. Their faces reflected bewilderment as though the surroundings were familiar yet unknown all at the same time.

A thought niggled and he turned his head. It was the Comte upon whose arm he leaned, but a Comte far different than he’d been. A distinguished man of forty-odd years now held him up. A handsome man with thick black hair graying at the temples, and intelligent green eyes that smiled concernedly into his. His pulse quickened, his spirit lifting at what it might imply.

The screams of several maids rang out. The two men were brought up short and turned in unison. Two of the less henhearted girls, arms clasping each other’s waists, were nervously edging toward the ruined wall, their eyes impossibly wide.

The field lay fallow
smothered under a glaze of slime.
The sunflower still stood…
silhouetted against an impossibly azure sky
solitary…undefiled.
Yet…a metamorphosis
had begun.
The stalk
now dipped in the
enigmatic hollows…
rose in the stirring protrusions
of a feminine form.
Leaves furled fashioning
delicately rounded arms
tapering into slender…elegant hands.
Radiant buttery yellow petals
bowed…blossoming
into shimmering golden curls.
Filaments wove pollen-gilded
graceful flowing robes.

In bold relief
a pair of lithe arms rose languidly…
stretching…flexing.
The head shook jubilantly…
sending long tendrils of hair
radiating like sunbeams
in the air.

Slowly…wobbly…carefully
a few steps were taken
then boldly…confidently
the figure started across the field.
Trailing in its wake
shoots of jade
erupted through the contaminated soil.
A carpet of emerald
began to unroll
swathing the ravened landscape
in grass and flowers.

A shudder rocked the Comte’s frame and his arm tensed, contracting painfully around Torin’s wounded shoulder. The younger man barely flinched as his entire being…attention was riveted on the approaching girl.

Jessamine

When the vortex of
light…color…odor…heat…sound
had engulfed her
in a blinding…choking…deafening rush
she’d feared assault…
[her aunt…had proved more cunning…
finally divining her sanctuary]
but maternal assurances
whispered in her ear
allayed the alarm…quieted the fear.
Her knight had saved the day…
just as he’d sworn…
slaying the auntie dragoness…
severing the enthralling chains
forged on the day she was born.
He’d confirmed her faith…love
but then…
she’d never doubted his word
nor ability.

Now…Happy Ever After
could commence.
[Her love reunited…
her father’s life set back to rights.]
But…first things first…
she must acclimate
to this exciting…
intoxicating new world…life.

After the first jolting introduction
stability had quickly established itself
showcasing a world more attuned with
soft sighing breezes…delicious scents
than noxious fumes…pandemonium.
Her initial attempts at walking
had been embarrassing
in their toddler’s unsteadiness
but the allure…sweet promise
of love’s brass ring
dangled…beckoned
and her heart took wing…
callow feet carrying her forward
surely…eagerly.

Torin

Dubious eyes…unquestioning heart
jousted for position.
Hope’s never-ending faith…
love’s unfaltering trust…won.
It was…she…Solace.
Unshackled from the Dream.
Free…
to be his
in daylight…in moonlight
forever after.

Shrugging off the Comte’s bracing arm, Torin began to walk. When rigid gravel turned to yielding grass beneath his boots, his pace quickened. Of their own volition his feet broke into a run. Wounds, fears, despairs, witches, spells were all forgotten and discarded. The only thing that mattered was the slender form hastening towards him.

She flew into his arms…
was gathered up…
spun around.
A kiss rendered into flesh
what their hearts were undergoing.

Out of breath…
flushed with joy
fingers melded…
unwilling to let go…
but eager to acquaint with sight
as well as touch
they separated…just enough
so that eyes
could meet…drink in…study.

Two pairs of laughing gazes locked
Each pair mirrored the other’s
astonishment…shock.
Jessamine…Torin
each stared incredulously
into a stranger’s face.