One Crown & Two Thrones: The Guardians Read online

  One Crown & Two Thrones

  The Guardians

  Siobhan Isolde

  Copyright © 2015 Kirsten Duncan.

  This EBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This EBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  For John, my one constant star and true friend.

  “One loyal friend is worth ten thousand relatives”

  Euripides

  Table of Contents

  Part One

  December 1941

  Divinity

  The Invisible

  Belle

  Galean

  Shadows

  Lier

  Darkness

  Fate

  Taken

  Part Two

  Enlightenment

  Celestine

  Awaken

  February 1942

  Belated Present

  A Letter

  Summer Solstice

  The Prophecy

  Attack of the Dunaman

  Gone

  Part One

  Eveline

  Chapter I

  December 1941

  Eveline wrapped a tartan blanket about her as she sat on her trunk, gazing out across the wind swept lake, looking out toward the town of Keswick, now lightly covered with snow. Flecks of snow spun around in the cold and brittle air, gently landing on Eveline’s pale face. The trees stood still and bare, snow adorning the branches whilst the waters rippled in remembrance of the bountiful swans that would adorn it during the summer months. The world held still, at least it did for Eveline, whose fiery auburn curls danced in the harsh winters wind. Often, alone, she would wonder down from her cottage that lay a little way back, to come and sit by the waters, to think, and to hope that one day she would find some purpose within her miserably dull existence. Many a time a deep sense of guilt or shame would swallow her whole as she realised the world was now at war, and that she should be grateful that she was safely out of its way, hidden amongst the mountains of the Lake District. Still she found herself yearning for anything that would make her feel somewhat useful.

  That is the irony of life, she often thought sitting on her log; that even when safe, protected and warm one still yearned for more. Taking a warm scone from her basket and eating it tenderly, enjoying the rare current that invaded her taste buds, she opened the letter which had come early in the morning post from Bath. Eveline knew instantly that it was from her grandmother, who had recently gone down to Bath on a writing excursion. Eveline loved and adored her grandmother, she had been brought up and educated by her after her parent’s death, fifteen years ago. At the age of twenty three, Eveline’s grandmother, certain that her only granddaughter was responsible enough to look after herself, wanted to visit her friend Mary in Bath and whilst there, do some much needed research for her new novel ‘Lady Black and the Hound’, a title that still drew a laugh from Evelina. Estelle, her grandmother, was a great believer and activist off women’s rights, often taking part in the suffragette movement when younger and still organising events and forming groups that aimed to empower the working women. Many of Estelle’s friends referred to her as the Gertrude Bell of Keswick. In spite of her great admiration for her grandmother, Eveline found it was hard to find a place to which she felt she belonged rather than felt duty bound to belong too. Off course Eveline was in her own way passionate about women’s rights just as her grandmother was, but she never would never become her equal.

  Often with a saddened heart Eveline wondered, who it was out of her parents that she resembled the most. Estelle reiterated many times how alike she was to her mother, soft and caring yet with a fiery disposition and a quick tongue. When asked about her father, Estelle would ponder, her eyes glazing when thinking of her son, Benjamin.

  “Well, you have his knack of wisdom I dare say,” she would smile warmly, “and a great mind, yes,” her eyes would sparkle, “Benjamin was a great thinker, you know he lectured at Cambridge for a while, philosophy was his forte, it greatly displeased your grandfather off course, but to be sure, everything displeased your grandfather, I’m sure heaven displeases him,” she laughed merrily, slapping her knee gently. In relation to her looks, Evelina had inherited her mother’s fiery auburn curls, petite frame, pale skin and her rare golden eyes, edged with green flecks a phenomena still talked about in Keswick to this day. Many a girl and boy poked fun at her unearthly eyes and tall stature, to her grandmother however she was;

  “A star, a rare a beautiful star,” she cooed down at the small Eveline, sitting upon her lap. “Now if that boy John gives you any more trouble, you know what to do?”

  “Yes grandma?” Evelina would ask hopefully, twirling her little index finger around her grandmother’s curls.

  “You stamp on his toe, accidently off course,” smirked Estelle, her face alit with menace. “He’ll know whose boss then! Either that or I will go to his mama the lovely Betty and give her a what’s for in the art of social etiquette.”

  Yes, Evelina’s grandmother really was a force to be reckoned with, and so with much love she opened her grandmother’s letter hastily and with great strength against the hardy wind trying to keep it in her hands.

  Dear Eveline,

  I must tell you, awful horrid stuff in the news about the war, if sensible do not read the newspapers as they will only increase your in depth desire to stuff your head into the fire in the evenings. Now you know I jest because I take great care in the affairs of our nation; honestly though it would be a national benefit to have women write some articles, then reason would rule the day, not the imaginations of young bucks who sit behind their desks all day, believing they are Nelson, tut.

  On to more important issues. Firstly Mary, god bless her soul is in the depths of despair since hearing her young son George died and so I have been spending a great deal of time tending to her practical needs, you know sorting out the house etc. etc. In terms of research, depressingly I have done little, Bath has changed since I was a young lady prancing around the country like Joan of Arc on a mission. Secondly, Bristol is taking a heavy pounding by those blasted Germans, honestly you would think they would put their resources into bettering their own intelligence, or sorting out a new leader. And so I must ask you, if possible, can you please get the next train down to Bath immediately, I am in egg shells, and need your assistance.

  I know you will read this next sentence and think me silly, but lately, whilst going about my daily activities, I have been noticing a few odd details. Firstly, I seem to be the object of at least four men’s desires as I roam about Bath on my morning excursions, off course I am flattered, at my age you would be plumed if the local baker winked an eye at you. However in all seriousness, I am a little worried, I’m not sure why it is they seem to be following me, I’m not sure I have done anything wrong or out of turn but it would settle me in knowing you were by my side if we were to be abducted, together. Secondly and lastly dearest, Mary has been having the oddest of dreams, really, it may be her grief but I am often up late and so I pop into her room before I head off to my own, and when I enter the strangest things happen. For instance, as I finished reading the Times and drinking my camomile tea I popped in to see that she was alright, she bolted up straight, her eyes slightly glazed and off and she looked to me and whispered, I swear on my soul this is true, she whispered, “Trouble comes, you must beware,” and I nearly had a heart attack. I tell you sincerely these dreams keep worsening, I wonder if I should send for the doctor?

  So dearest, please come to me urgently, for it seems odd times are upon
us, and yet a little adventure is surely more preferable than being isolated at the cottage during the winter?

  Yours Sincerely,

  Grand mama.

  P.s – Please could you bring a batch of the Scottish short bread, Mary’s short bread is the devil, nearly burns a whole into your oesophagus.

  Eveline laughed out loud at her grandmothers outrageous humour and then in time, when the merriness abated she found herself worried. Off course she would get on the next train and go to her grandmother, anything but another day isolated in the snow, alone. But Estelle’s worries about being stalked really did send a shiver of worry down her spine, as out of context and peculiar as it all sounded, she wondered why her grandmother was becoming concerned and why she had not simply written off to the local policeman to enquire.

  Without further ado, Eveline slowly arose from the log, took one last lingering look towards Keswick and turned to make her way back to the cottage. Stepping into the now sleeping rose gardens, Eveline stood still and turned to look out at the snowy countryside, her eyes falling upon a rather strange figure. A man, robed in white stood gazing down at her causing her body to stiffen in panic. Quickly shaking her head, she re adjusted her gaze and found the man was quite gone.

  “Strange,” she murmured, moving once again toward her home, setting down the basket at the door, covered in Christmas ivy. As she entered her warm cottage, she closed the red door behind her and took off her blanket, setting it atop a nearby chair. Walking into the kitchen which stood at the far end of the house, Eveline made for the oven to make sure her vegetable broth was ready for lunch. A lovely smell filled the air a mixture of both the soup and the bread that was baking quietly. Taking off her gloves and setting them on the breakfast table, she quickly found her kitchen apron and tied it about her waist, before winding her hair up into a bun. Opening the kitchen window to let some air in, Eveline let her eyes wander to the same hill only to find nothing, returning to her lunch.

  Untying her apron from her waist, Eveline took the tray which bore her lunch and made for the front room, where a nice, little fire roared. She loved her little cottage that she shared with her grandmother, it was warm and cosy, filled with little paintings, rugs and vintage ornaments. Estelle’s friends loved to spend their evenings here, knitting away whilst gossiping. Sitting back into her favourite chair, putting her feet up on a stool, Eveline lay the tray on the small eating table to her left, taking her bowl of soup and gently fanning it with mouth. Closing her eyes, she thought of the letter as she waited for her soup to cool. Strange things where afloat in Bath, and she had no idea why, stranger yet was the man atop the hill. Shaking her head as though shaking away the thought she whispered, “All in my head,” before sipping at her soup.

  As snow fell outside, Eveline filled her large, leather suitcase. Moving about her little bedroom, decorated in a floral patterned wallpaper, Eveline neatly placed her dresses, tights, jumpers, cardigans and two coats into the suitcase, topping her clothes with several books, including her old, leather bound bible, not that she read it much, but it belonged to her mother. Snapping the suitcase shut, she fell back onto her bed, laying her head upon the pillow and bringing herself into the foetal position, closing her eyes gently. The next train didn’t leave until the early hours of the morning, and so she would have to make her dinner early so that she could get an early night. Eveline felt herself fall into a deep sleep, falling through darkness until she stood, alone at an altar in a beautiful, gothic church, looking up at the decorated and sculpted ceiling. The church was alit with candles, though the warm auroras of their light could not hold out the cold. Quietly she stood, unable to move her feet for want of trying. Without looking, she felt a presence behind her, someone was coming. Trying in vain to move her feet, Eveline’s body filled with adrenaline and fear. Beads of sweat lingered on her brow as she tried to move without luck. A strange light filled the air around her, warming her body, especially her back. The person behind her stood still and silent causing Eveline’s legs to shake.

  “Who is it?” she whispered quietly, her skin covered in goose bumps, the coldness of the cathedral causing her to shiver.

  “It is I,” came a gentle reply.

  “Do I know you?” replied Eveline, shutting her eyes tightly, hoping for comfort, but only finding darkness.

  “You have always known me,” responded the male voice, high and beautiful, filling the cathedral with an unspoken song.

  “I think you are wrong,” whispered Eveline, her hands tightly knotted beside her hips.

  “Open your eyes,” the stranger ordered. Eveline shook her head violently.

  “No!” she whispered to the stranger. As she stood, her body tense, she felt a hand touch her shoulder tenderly. A warmth spread throughout her body instantly and headed straight for her heart.

  “You must open your eyes Eveline,” soothed the voice, elegant and calming, Eveline fought the desire to open her eyes.

  “I cannot,” she whispered, feeling her breathe bounce off the face of the stranger.

  “I mean you no harm Eveline, trust me.”

  “Please!” cried Eveline, feeling disorientated and in want of waking up from this strange and life like dream. Un-noticed and unaware, a tear rolled down her cheek, leaving behind a cool trail of salty water, staining her pale skin.

  “I mean you no harm.”

  “It is just a dream,” Eveline reminded herself again and again.

  “It is I.” replied the stranger.

  “I don’t know you.”

  “You do know me, you have always known me.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Silence fell upon Eveline and the stranger, his hand still pressed into her shoulder. Eveline breathed in deeply, calming herself down, her eyelids alit with a golden haze.

  “What will happen if I open my eyes?” she asked, in an almost childlike manner.

  “You will see me,” replied the gentle stranger, his voice filled with warmth.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am life.” replied the stranger.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will.”

  Eveline stood, thinking carefully. I am life, she muttered inwardly, where had she heard those words before? Suddenly she took in her surroundings, she stood inside a cathedral.

  “No,” she whispered, her reply filling the cathedral “it’s just a story”

  “All stories bare some truths.”

  “But this cannot be true, you cannot be real,” quizzed Eveline, she had never been religious.

  “It is only a dream,” the stranger reminded her cautiously.

  “Yes you are right,” nodded Eveline, thankful for some instilled reasoning.

  “And yet it feels real does it not?” asked the stranger lightly. Eveline searched within herself, he was right, this was a dream and yet, yet it felt so real as though she had been transported to this cathedral for the very purpose of meeting this stranger, who claimed to be likened to God himself.

  “Yes.” she replied.

  “Why are you afraid?”

  “I am afraid of what is to come,” Eveline began, “Why am I here? What is it that you want from me?”

  “You must not fear me, I am here to warn you.”

  “Warn me?” Eveline asked quietly, her hands relaxing against her sides.

  “You are in danger, from a darkness you have never met before but a darkness that wishes to take you from me,” replied the man gravely.

  “I do not understand?” said Eveline, her eyelids relaxing.

  “One day you will understand, for now all I can do is warn you,” soothed the gentle voice his hand relaxing on her shoulder.

  “Who wishes me harm?” asked Eveline, wanting to open her eyelids but feeling shameful for putting up such a fight to keep them closed.

  “You will know.” replied the man.

  “How?”

  “You will feel it.”

  “What do I
do?” asked Eveline, her voice low, frightened of the warning she had just received.

  “There are those who will protect you,” the man responded kindly, “those who are loyal to me.”

  “And, who are you?” asked Eveline once more this time with a gentle firmness disguising her alarm.

  “You know who I am Eveline.”

  Eveline could not understand the riddles, could not understand the warning and felt as though she had been spinning in circles for eternity, when suddenly her eyelids let loose, her gaze settling upon the stranger. Before her stood a man, beautiful, with silver hair and golden eyes. All about him seem to fade into his light. Eveline looked up into the face of the man, timeless, yet for some bizarre reason, timed. He looked beautiful, but felt as old as the universe.

  “You are, beautiful,” whispered Eveline, “what I mean is, you are timeless,” she stated choking on her words pathetically. It was not a sexual feeling that arose within her when she gazed up at the God like man, he was simply beautiful; he looked beautiful, he made her feel somewhat beautiful and his eyes were those that betrayed gentle yet firm nature yet as she observed him at length she noticed that they were slightly pained. The angelic man smiled down at Eveline.

  “Timeless,” he whispered. “I suppose that is putting it bluntly.”

  “Sorry, I don’t know what to say, I don’t think anything I could say could fully explain how I see you,” replied Eveline dumbly, shocked at what was happening.

  “It is alright to feel taken back and scared.”

  “I don’t know how I feel, I know this is a dream and yet, it feels very real in my heart,” Eveline mused quietly.

  “We haven’t much time to go into details,” the stranger urged, “you must wake for your train, and Eveline?” the man looked down at Eveline, his brows furrowed and his eyes intense.