Bertran fell to his knees as he felt the wondrous heat wrap about him as his markings illuminated the room with Victoria’s. He threw his head backward, his eyes seeking and immediately finding hers and knowing that she was the answer, the answer to so many questions he had not even knew existed before this very second. He knew that she was the key to the door he had been bashing his face into for longer than he could even remember anymore. His voice was thick with emotion as he spoke to Victoria, her eyes moist with tears as she looked down at him.
“Goddess, I ask you, nay I beg you, please tell me what I am, why I am this.” He had said it, he had been waiting to ask that question his entire life. He had asked it before of course, just never to anyone that was not a charlatan, a snake-oil salesman, an ally of darkness and the demonic.
Victoria reached down with both hands and lifted him to his feet, slowly guiding him to divan where she sat him down, sending calm into him so that he would take this moment in for the immense thing that it was and not panic through it. Her voice was wistful, almost smiling as she began to speak, the words making the room, all there was to see was grass on a plain that extended beyond sight in all directions.
“I was born, aye. I was born to parents and had siblings by the dozen. The Fae were a population that outnumbered modern man five thousand to one. Hundreds of billions of us on a planet that has not existed in thousands and thousands of years. The Fae count time differently than mortal man, immortals do not need to keep such precise measurements. In the counting of the years of man however, I am hundreds of thousands of years old. I will live a hundred thousand times that and more beyond. Immortality is true. It is not the tale the Irish have told, not the Darkness that feeds on the essence, but it exists. It is a burden to some, a gift to others and, to you my lovely Bertran, it is a curse. Your mother was cursed by one who had a deep knowledge of things old and powerful.” She leaned forward and Bertran softly on the forehead, making him calmer and yet keeping him focused on her words as she wove the truth he had so long wanted and needed to hear.
“You will never die. You will never be killed. You are one of perhaps twenty that walk the world forever that is not Fae or Darkness. You have never met the others because you actively avoid one another, as magnets do not touch one another. You have so much pain, so much sorrow from so long, it is a wave most cannot accept when they hear the truth, of which nearly none do. You will walk this world after it kills itself either by war or Siobhan returns to claim it as her own once more.” Victoria’s voice got much more serious as she spoke the next part, delicately as to not drive him from her.
“You have power, Bertran. You do not know how to use it and I humbly ask you to allow me to teach you to use it lest darker things find you and make you slave for them for all of time, feeding appetites you truly do not want to imagine. Stay with me here, in Montreal, and I will tell you everything you want to know, I will teach you all you desire to learn and, I will give you other things that one like yourself has abstained from.” Her voice took on a husky tone as she dropped the final line, his head snapping to hers in understanding. Immortals could not breed, they had no children, but they still desired the pleasures of the flesh as much as any other creature Siobhan created.
Bertran took a deep breath and nodded, he did not trust himself to use words to tell this Goddess that she had just given him more than he ever dared to have hoped for.
© 2019, TheJameyBear. All rights reserved.
I am JameyBear. Liberal. Hippie. Dad. Widower. Poet. Author. Sarcastic Ass. Friend. Lover. Hater.
I have lied and cheated, stolen and done violence in word and deed.
I have given the shirt off my back and they wanted the skin underneath instead.
I am a notorious soft touch, wearing my heart on my sleeve and wanting to make everyone happy.
I tip too much, too often, too many places, and it is has burned me even as recent as this week.
I love everyone I have ever hated still. I will always love the memory of being in love with them.
I want to be your friend. No. I want you to want me to be your friend.
I am clingy and needy, dependent and hopelessly lost in times that I will never live in.
I use language that was archaic when archaic was a new word in the early 19th century.
I want to record myself reading everything so people won’t forget me when I disappear.
I talk too much, listen too deeply, process too quickly and infer way too much.
My beard is also better than yours