The Sorcerers Mark Read online

  And it was then Dietrick openly turned on him. Dietrick’s voice joined the chorus of complaint about Wyldelock’s wicked philandering. Dietrick! Of all men, Dietrick knew of Wyldelock’s insatiable appetite. And the tender emotion he had sacrificed to satisfy it.

  The trust was abused. His blood brother called upon the miscreant forces of the unnatural, sought out their possession, burned with their potent power of hatred and condemned him to the pit where he slept. And it was Dietrick’s chant that secured incapacity. Immortality kept Wyldelock safe and warm where he slept. Sophia was now nothing more than a pile of bones in her family crypt. He never doubted that her brother’s bones stretched near by. He understood in this new age he must promise faithfulness to one, an echo of Dietrick’s skill in casting one final enchantment, but it never troubled him--not since catching her clear and promising scent and then finding her tucked away in this tiny village. This awakening brought with it the genuine desire to have only her because she bore the mark of a sorcerer. Never to be an equal but she could aspire to greatness with guidance. Centuries of sleep were apparently not enough to subdue Dietrick’s revenge. He had followed; he had found a way.

  Loathing had directed Dietrick’s path through the centuries and such compelling sorcery was an austere threat, as it was meant to be. Conquering the woman who bore the mark was meant to be relatively simple, but this! This was an obstacle he had not considered. He had risen to the scent of the woman meant for him and him alone. But so, too, had risen his adversary.

  Dietrick Von Der Weilde had been a brother he once loved, during a time he knew love’s meaning, but now he was a formidable enemy, one Wyldelock must be prepared to fight. If his image grew clear within the spirit’s world, so would his existence grow clear in Olivia’s world.

  “No,” Wyldelock cried, pulling the strands of wet hair from his face. “Damn you, Dietrick. You will not foil me. You have no right to follow me here!”

  Hair cascaded through outstretched fingers, each strand transforming to feathers. Torso shrinking, feet turning to claws, eyes growing wide to allow night to be day--in one energetic flap he rose and swirled, effortlessly, weightlessly, through the dark sky toward the home that urgency demanded preparation for his mate, fortification against all that boiled against him. He left behind no evidence of the metamorphosis, except a long single trill of the screech owl he had become.

  Behind the white candles that flickered in the downstairs bedroom an old woman stopped chanting and wept with both joy and foreboding. The master Von Der Weilde had been successfully summoned. The task that destiny demanded of her completed, all she could do now was wait.

  Chapter Three

  Sunshine and warmth brightened everyone’s mood. Gran hummed while making another pot of tea and Mother tended a few household chores without customary complaint. Despite a night of restless dreams, Olivia, too, felt cheerful. Worries that were devastatingly real during the day’s darkest hours always seemed to evaporate with bright sunny mornings.

  Slipping on her running shoes, Olivia announced she was going for a walk along the beach. She paused, waiting for the usual warning not to venture too close to the Keep, a warning that, for some strange reason, wasn’t issued.

  The ruts in the ground made by heavy trucks were filled with water from a night of steady rain. Olivia stepped over each with care to avoid getting her shoes muddy. She found the path that led to the beach and kicked off each sneaker. Not quite noon and already the sand was warm as it squished between her toes. The tide was inching away from the green-carpeted rocks beneath the water’s surface creating little pools that teemed with snails and shrimp and crabs, seaweed and cracked stone their only shelter from the growing heat. Seagulls and cranes were searching several for a quick lunch. Olivia pulled off her sweatshirt, laying it on a flat rock for a cushion, and sat with the sun at her back. A prelude to summer--her favorite time of the year.

  She was the only human guest amongst the creatures that made the shoreline their home. Several fishing boats were on the horizon, slowly chugging toward the bay to unload their booty. And to her left were the huge rocks that had tumbled from the cliff to the shore from winter’s erosion, weakened by fierce and relentless winter storms. Above them stood the Keep, a proud sentinel over it all. Regardless of it now hosting an inhabitant, it appeared no differently than during the years of loneliness. She couldn’t help but wonder, however, if the building was content, now that someone had decided to lavish attention on it. She was grateful that at the very least, it wasn’t destined for destruction.

  William Talbot. Why was it she couldn’t shake him from her mind? She had come to accept his ownership even though his underlying motives continued to nag at her, like an unreachable tickle. Odd, the slight cultured accent in his speech and the flare for medieval fashions he wore. He would certainly stand out in this reserved village of fisherman and farmers. But what hung with her imagination was his aesthetic beauty. Perhaps she had spent too much time poring over books recounting great pieces of art and believing, as a result, that such flawlessness could be found only from an artist’s brush. Dorian Gray. The thought of a painting aging so the subject would not caused her to laugh aloud. Then her smile faded. That wasn’t it, but there was some mystical aura that surrounded him. She felt it in her bones. As bright and beautiful as he was, there was definitely a shadow as well. Gran had sensed it and the more she thought of this mysterious Mr. Talbot, the more she sensed it as well.

  “Stop it,” she scolded, rubbing the heel of each hand to her forehead, as though the self-chastisement might draw the memory of him out.

  “Something wrong?” said a velvet voice close by.

  Olivia jumped, nearly falling from her seat on the rock. Mere seconds ago she had been alone, the expanse of shoreline void of human intrusion except her own. And now, suddenly, the man who had haunted her imagination had materialized before her eyes.

  “I apologize,” he said warmly. “My intent was not to frighten you. May I sit down?”

  “Oh,” was the only clever reply that fell from her gaping mouth. She slid to one side of the rock while he sat, not waiting for a verbal concession. The stone was wide enough for her, but now that the two of them shared the spot his arm pressed against hers. Embarrassed by such close proximity she shifted, having to strain to keep her balance.

  His leather boots had made no prints in the sand. She searched nonchalantly in each direction, but saw no evidence of his sudden arrival. Black trousers fit snugly to thick thighs, a contrast to the white sweater that hung loosely around his waist. A bout of extreme shyness prevented her from looking him directly in the face, and she struggled uncomfortably, searching for something casual to say. And to think only yesterday she harbored thoughts of angrily telling him to go away. Now, in his presence, she was barely able to speak, let alone voice her opinions about the Keep’s status.

  “This is an artist’s paradise,” he said. “My glance is rewarded with such natural beauty.”

  A flush rose to her cheeks as he tipped his head to stare at her. “Yes,” she said meekly, while flickering a quick glimpse to his smile. “Your new home has been the object of many a painter’s brush.”

  “No doubt a poet’s intuitive theme as well,” he said. “I am neither but I do appreciate the talent of both.”

  “Is that what brought you here, Mr. Talbot?” she asked.

  “My motive is far more complicated than the simple pleasures offered by the arts.”

  “Really?” she said. “That leaves wide the window of speculation.”

  He laughed. The pleasant sound left her feeling relaxed. She even ventured another glimpse at his face. He didn’t return the gesture; his glance was fixated on the sea.

  “The locals seem to think you’re hiding from a past life of crime,” she continued after a brief pause.

  His smile faded as he considered this. The white sweater pressed against her shoulder as he sighed. “I suppose they are correct, in part.”
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br />   “I see,” Olivia said, even though she didn’t understand. He was going to cling to the mystery that shrouded his arrival, as well as the vagueness of his history.

  “Oh, no,” he said abruptly, as though her opinion of him was of the utmost importance. “I may be many things but I am not a criminal.”

  “What things are you, Mr. Talbot?” She was beginning to enjoy the banter even though he shared nothing concrete about motives.

  “I am a humble man, Olivia,” he said.

  This she sincerely doubted. For one, she speculated he owned great wealth--how else would he be able to refurnish the Keep? Wealth carried with it arrogance and assertion in business. This left no room for the humble. For another, he was fiercely handsome--virtually flawless in his masculinity--and with such virtue would come ego. To have both and remain humble would be bordering on the impossible. “I’ll take your word for that,” she said, skepticism evident in her tone.

  “And what of you, Olivia? Why is it you hold this lonely place so dear to your heart?”

  “It’s not lonely here,” she said defensively. “Besides, this is my home. Everything I love is right here.”

  He nodded, but she got the distinct impression the depths of her feelings were beyond him, despite an attempt to value the emotion.

  “Where is your home, Mr. Talbot?”

  “Please,” he said. “It would give me pleasure if you were to call me William.”

  “All right, William.” She waited for an answer, one that didn’t come. “You have a knack for not answering questions,” she added finally. “Am I being too inquisitive?”

  “No, not at all,” he said, placing his palm on her knee. The spot instantly warmed and although the sensation was luxurious, the act was one drenched with too much familiarity. Before she could protest, he removed his hand. “I do not mean to be elusive. I am Germanic by birth and have made my home in many places, none of which I can claim affection for. I hope to change that now that I have found solace here.”

  “You always talk like this?” she puffed.

  “Like what?” His brown eyes blinked with puzzlement.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just you speak like a poet. I’ve never heard anyone quite so refined.”

  “Does this displease you?”

  His genuine concern made a direct impact and she stuttered. “Well, no, actually I find it quite charming. You’ll stand out around here like a sore thumb, that’s for certain.”

  “Few opinions direct my path,” he said with resolve.

  “Just as well you feel that way, especially considering the rumors.” She regretted her haste in saying this. She didn’t want him to be hurt by gossip. She knew all too well what it was like to feel the sting of idle talk. He didn’t seem the type, however, to be affected by such carelessness. “Easier said than done, sometimes.”

  “Then we share a common bond,” he said.

  “Yes. I suppose we do.”

  “I think maybe we have much in common.” He twisted as he spoke, giving her his full attention. “Olivia, I would be honored to entertain you as a guest in my home. Perhaps you would be so kind as to join me in a celebratory glass of wine, say, tomorrow evening?”

  “Oh, I don’t know if....” She faltered. Her first instinct was to refuse the invitation. Years of avoiding the building seemed to carry its own voice, one that warned her to constantly stay away. Yet now that interest was being lavishly bestowed within its great walls, surely it wouldn’t be as coolly daunting as before.

  “I have made every attempt to remain true to the period in which the house was constructed,” he went on, laying temptation before her. “It would mean so much to me if you were to cast a critical eye upon those efforts.”

  Excuses failed Olivia. She was stirred with curiosity and if she were completely honest, she was thoroughly impressed with the mysteriously gallant proprietor. His conduct was one of impeccable courtesy. They were neighbors, after all. “I would like that, yes.” She smiled. “Thank you, William.”

  His brown eyes sparkled with the pleasure of her response. “Wonderful,” he said, getting to his feet. “I shall leave you to the solitude of your afternoon. Until tomorrow evening, then.” He tipped his chin to a pert bow and started off toward the steepest part of the cliff beneath the Keep.

  “What a peculiar man you are,” she whispered as he strode farther away. And she was indeed thankful that the Keep had been blessed with such a gracious caretaker.

  * * * *

  Olivia spent a good part of the remaining afternoon rummaging through her wardrobe--too early in the season for cotton dresses and too late for bulky sweaters--nothing she owned suited the upcoming occasion of an evening with William Talbot. His attire was chosen with immaculate taste, and she didn’t doubt there would be more than a hint of formality in his position as host, one she wanted to match. The search, futile as it was, left her with little more than the realization that she wanted deeply to make an impression on him. Such a desire, she knew, was the birth of expectation. She was peculiarly attracted to him and deep within her heart she hoped he, too, would grow attracted to her. That caused her head to swim with a mixture of delight and trepidation. She was opening herself up for another fall and yet she couldn’t help but swing wide the gate to delicate feelings. In frustration she abandoned her closet, deciding instead to visit a few shops in the morning.

  He was so unlike any other man she had met before. College professors had impressed her with their elegant speeches, accented with knowledge and sophistication. Other students were a source of inspiration, conversations tinted with colorful words, a subject matter she could always join with confidence. None wore faded jeans or tattered shirts, an aspect of the literary environment she had treasured. At college she hadn’t felt unique, not the way her differences stood out here in an isolated fishing village. While she studied, she felt content with the Nirvana of academia, believing it was the ultimate measuring stick of sophistication. But the measuring stick was growing less defined now that she had met William Talbot. The professors and classmates she had held in such high esteem were dulling in comparison. And she was flirting with this opinion after one short conversation on the beach? Being with him was so comfortable--as though she had known him a long time. Maybe it was chemistry, that elusive bond between certain personalities that students of psychology so often debated.

  Yet beneath all this she sensed that William Talbot was deep and precarious, like still water that pooled where sight alone was unable to discern the sandy bottom. To wade in meant risking the chance of unforeseen peril. There seemed to be an unknown mystique about him but it was a mystique she was aching to unravel.

  The peculiarity was so enrapturing that it even haunted her dreams. She walked the sandy beach without leaving footprints, the sea as calm and clear as a pane of glass, its surface disturbingly black. Distant rocks glowed white in a twilight hue and the Keep had doubled in size, the slim window of the turret blood red, as though an unquenchable fire burned inside. Fearing for the safety of the one inhabitant, Olivia succumbed to the urgency of rescue. She reached her veiled arm toward the window and floated over the white rocks--with no more effort than a bird’s ability for flight. Conquering nature’s restriction of gravity left her feeling euphoric and she heard herself laugh to the freedom of weightlessness. A gift, that only a dream could procure, she hovered outside the turret’s window and gazed within.

  No longer the empty ruined place she had explored, the room flickered to the gentle glow of flames that crackled in the fireplace. The oak bed was assembled, each of the carved four posts draped with plush velvet curtains. Branching candelabras, each one alit with burgundy tongues, illuminated the subtle folds in the material that swayed with gentle motion. Magnificently crafted tapestries decorated the stone walls, stitched eyes of cherubs and creatures side by side, joined with her to peer intently to the source of sighs that emanated from within the canopy. The dark curved
outline of a body moved, flowing as though a wave on the shoreline. She strained to see the vision with more clarity, yet the twisting lace refused to give up any secrets. Disappointment stabbed her dreaming heart. This was a scene of perfect peace and she wished more than anything to be connected to such faultless tranquility.

  The dream concurred and she found herself standing on the floorboards. Soundlessly she glided closer to the bed. Eyes in the tapestries followed her as she moved across the room, their gasps filling her ears with a thickening roar of silence. She ignored the embarrassment in their voices; she had to know what was happening within. And as she reached to pull the curtain aside the room suddenly expanded, the outer edges dissolving into shadow, the tapestries vanishing, mortified that such privacy could be interrupted. She shivered with expectancy, a gush of cool wind causing the candles to flutter wide and then dim to a knowing bow. The whole room acknowledged her attendance and the subservience filled her with respectful awe.

  Clutching the lace she tugged it aside.

  The lithe shoulders rippled to the constant writhe of muscle beneath the surface of olive skin, the curve of his naked body flexing to every motion. She drank the vision as one who was dying of thirst, a thirst for pure art, watching as the smooth flesh of his buttocks rose and fell, sensing the softness of twisted black hair that cascaded over his shoulders, concealing the identity of his lover. Rose petals peppered the surface of the bed, so many scattered about that some had clung to his thighs and legs and feet, entwined in the thin dark hairs. His arms were each locked, encasing the delicate body that lay beneath him, a stance of dominion, locking her firmly in compliance to his need. His spine continued to sway as he lifted and fell again and his long hair shifted ever so slightly as he lavished kisses onto her throat. Two voices melted together in sighs of mutual enticement and gratification.