Wenhaver sat in her room, before a mirror, idly running a comb through
her luxuriant blonde hair. She was waiting for her husband, her true
love, Sir Colin Oakesarme, to return from his various duties. She had
such wonderful news for him. Their child, their first child, slept
beneath her heart, and already she could feel the small one's spirit
hovering about the edges of her consciousness.
The door opened and a large troll moved through, leading a small,
bedraggled Sluagh child. "Beloved," she said when she saw them, "Who is
the small one?"
Colin's eyes turned momentarily hard as he placed his hand on the boy's
head. "I found him in a flooded sewer, he was hanging onto a niche in
the wall and was almost at the end of his strength. I pulled him out
and, unable to leave him on the streets with no one to look after him, I
asked him if there was anyone he wanted to see. He wanted to see thee,
dear heart, and so I brought him." Wenhaver could see the pain in
Colin's face. He hated to see small ones harmed in any way. It would
make him so happy to know that they were to have one of their own.
She opened her arms and pulled the boy into her lap. She could see the
surprise in his face as she drew him close to her heart. "Is there no
one who looks after you? Do you have no parents? no Kithain
guardians?" The boy shook his head. "What is your name?"
"Raist." he whispered. "I am Raist."
She held him even closer. "Well, what would you say, Raist, if I asked
if you wanted to be my son? If I asked to watch over you, to take care
of you? You would have to run errands for me, as in time I will be
unable to move around very well, and especially after the baby comes..."
She was interrupted by Colin's look of ecstatic surprise. "Baby? Thou
art with child?"
Wenhaver smiled. "Yes, Beloved, I am. Our daughter should be here by
Highsummer."
Colin knelt next to the chair, words failing him. Strangely Raist
didn't feel excluded by their love. He reached up and hugged Wenhaver's
neck. "I want you for my mother." he whispered and was rewarded beyond
his dreams when Wenhaver smiled at him. He felt as though his whole
world had brightened with the smile of this beautiful, wondrous,
golden-eyed noblewoman.
"It is settled then, young Raist, I will be your mother, and you will be
my son. This also means that Colin will be your father, and you will be
his son as well, is that acceptable?"
The smile he gave her was the only answer she needed. Just then the door
opened and a tall, majestic Sidhe walked in. The mirth faded from
Wenhaver's face and Colin stood up beside her chair. Raist slid off her
lap and stood on the other side, instinctively knowing that there might
be trouble. Wenhaver touched Raist on the shoulder. "Why don't you go
run along for now while Colin and I talk with this man?" It was a simple
request, she did him the honor of not trying to back it up with Glamour.
He scurried off, then sneaked back and hid in a corner to watch.
They spoke for a bit, Wenhaver's voice sad and unyielding, the Sidhe's
voice harsh and unforgiving. Then violence struck and it struck
quickly. The Sidhe, Raist could never seem to catch a good look at his
face, even when he had been standing before him, suddenly drew a dagger
and drove it into Wenhaver's breast, and then he sliced Colin across the
chest and belly with another. It was all Raist could do to keep from
running out there to try and protect them all by himself, as useless as
it would be. The two fell to the ground, Wenhaver leaning on the wall
and Raist though his heart fell with them.
Wenhaver, even as she died, reached her hand out to Colin and grasped
his. The strange Sidhe laughed at their devotion and a very adult anger
awoke in Raist's childling heart. He watched as the Sidhe took a cold
iron dagger from his belt and plunged in into Colin's chest. "Sorry for
doing this, but you understand. I simply cannot let you two ever
reunite, not after you stole her from me." Then he was gone.
Raist crept forward to where Colin lay, still barely alive, tears
blurring his young eyes. Colin saw him and reached his free hand out to
grasp Raist's shoulder. "My son, for we who are commoners, death usually
leads to a new life, a new incarnation, but I'm not coming back from this
one. Raist, promise me that you will hold a wake for Wenhaver. Give her
soul a chance to come back and finish what she started. You find her,
and you serve her, and you love her. You must do for her what I would
do. Gods, how I wish I could be there for her!" His voice, fading fast,
was agonized. With a knowledge beyond his years, Raist took up one of
Colin's daggers.
"I swear by the shadows and the moon, that I shall protect this lady,
through whatever form she may take. I will not rest until I find her,
and help her. As I swear this oath, so shall my blood mingle with
yours," he slit his small hand and placed it on Colin's wound, "and so
shall your spirit live long through me..."
Colin smiled one last time. "I will live through you, see through your
eyes. Together we will beat this death."
Then he died and Raist was left alone with his tears and his oath, his
first oath, and a bleeding left hand, a wound that would leave a scar
that would still be with him two decades later when Elisabeth Crane, a
Satyr, cried into the winter storm at their enemies, "In the name of
Wenhaver of House Fiona, Lady of Westhaven, Nobleborn Sidhe, I demand
that you at least allow Rhynn to go home."
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