Heart

He’d go through the seven circles of hell to rescue Rebeka. “I should have anticipated… I should have warned her,” he said to the empty room. Lord Arik slammed his fist onto the wooden table and set the papers flying. Slowly, he sank into the chair, his elbows on the table-his forehead resting on his clasped hands. “I should have… I should have protected her.” He straightened up, took a deep breath, and wiped away the self condemnation. That wouldn't rescue her from Bran. He raked his hand through his hair and stared blankly at the papers. Another deep breath, then another. Finally, the tempest calmed.

 The crackling of the fire along with the whiff of melted wax and spent sulfur brought him back to the present. Last night the air was tinged with the fragrance of lavender and rose, her scent. The muscle along his jaw tensed. His body hummed with determination.

There was little comfort in knowing she was 400 years in the future, in a time she once knew well. With renewed purpose he spent the next several bent over the table. He rummaged through documents, transcribed arcane symbols, and created new formulas. He checked the books which lay open and scattered everywhere for confirmation.

Tired but satisfied he straightened in his chair and rested against its back. He had checked and rechecked his formulas. He unfolded from the chair, stiff from the long hours of not moving, and surveyed his tower room. His eyes scanned and checked the chalk markings that danced on the walls where once beautiful tapestries hung. Now, runes and formulas covered every inch of the high tower walls. He picked up a piece of chalk and methodically followed the formula while he softly chanted. He reviewed every character, symbol and line. He erased a section and replaced it with a new combination of runes. 

He made the final adjustment and out of the quiet he heard the soft chant of another druid. A sense of fulfillment flooded him. He could taste success.  The new rune tattooed added to the others that ran up his back and over his shoulder gave off a warm sensation. It was the one for his heart, for Rebeka. Dare he hope for success? He gave his body a slight shake as if shaking off restraining hands. No, he would succeed.

The ancient pentagram drawn in gold covered the floor between the hearth and the scrying mirror that hung on the wall. The pentagram had been there long before him, his father, or his grandfather. Now great globs of melted wax and smudges of chalk surround the relic and attested to the many times Arik and his brother, Logan, tried to open the time portal. Carefully, Arik adjusted the markings. Now, all was ready. Now his heart would be whole.

Excerpt from Knight of Rapture