Read Online Entwined by Elizabeth Marshall - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Marshall
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and move. It was useless. Tears of anger flowed down my cheeks. The fear of Angus hurting my family consumed my mind. I remembered the time the Stag had first spoken to me, when Simon’s body had lain lifeless on the floor of our home in York. It was this memory that enabled me to move. I flung myself at Angus, only to find my body thrown into another place.
I hit the cold ground and I looked up to find I was back on the mountain. Snow pelted at my face as it had done the first time I had died. Was this it? Was I going to die again? I felt exactly as I had done all those years ago, drained, ready to give up. In the distance I saw the Stag, emitting its beautiful golden glow. Transforming, it took the form of a familiar face again. This time, it was my own. I quickly staggered to my feet. The snow ceased, and my surroundings changed once more. I was back in the warm place with the golden glow.
“You are special, Corran. Your heart is far more powerful than your instincts. There are few people like you in this world,” my doppelganger said, brushing her hand over my cheek. I stared in amazement at the novelty of someone who was identical to me in looks.
“What are you?”
“I can be your worst nightmare, or I can be your most pleasant dream,”
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“To guide you.”
“You’ve already said that! How is this guiding me?!” I shouted.
“You have to see that for yourself.” The figure transformed again, this time into a tall well-built man, his golden glow as strong as when my grandmother stood before me. At first I thought he was Simon. He looked much younger but had the same hair, build and stance. The man stood proudly, with a smile on his face, looking into the distance. He seemed happy.
“Simon?” I asked. The figure remained silent. I leant out to touch him, but as I did, he transformed again. This time, into the same man, but different. His long black hair was combed back in a tail, held fast by a thin leather thong. As my eyes studied his form I noticed a scar that cut diagonally from one side of his face to the other and a dark gaping hole where his right eye should have been. Memories of a cold Saturday afternoon flooded my mind taking me back to Grope Lane when this man had saved me from a dreadful experience by murdering a thug without a moment’s thought. His face was young, yet tired; as if worn by events long since passed. I reached out to touch him, drawn by him, but, as I did, his smile faded into a dark scowl and the glow was gone. What had happened to make him like this? I was startled when the figure turned abruptly to look directly at me. His eye locked on mine, staring, searching deep into my soul as if he had found something for which he had spent an eternity searching.
“It’s funny,” the man spoke with a deep grumble.
“What is?” I inquired.
“It’s funny how events can change a person,” he said, casting his eye into the distance, this time his look was yearning. A sadness consumed me, tore at my heart but I didn’t understand the pain. I knew this man, I knew him well, as well as I know my husband. But this wasn’t my husband. This was a man with a different life; a past of which I had not been a part of.
Was that it?
Was this what the Stag was showing me?
The product of things that could have been.
Was this my husband at the mercy of a different fate?
“Simon?” I asked again. The figure transformed, this time, back into my grandmother, regaining its warm golden glow back.
“No, my dear Corran. You’ve already figured out that I’m the Stag,” she said, smiling at me.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“He is the victim in all of this.”
“The victim of what?!” I shouted, irritated that she wouldn’t give me a straight answer. The smile faded from her face as she transformed back into Angus.
“When instinct becomes more powerful than the heart,” he said.
“I don’t understand…”
“He is the victim of
I hit the cold ground and I looked up to find I was back on the mountain. Snow pelted at my face as it had done the first time I had died. Was this it? Was I going to die again? I felt exactly as I had done all those years ago, drained, ready to give up. In the distance I saw the Stag, emitting its beautiful golden glow. Transforming, it took the form of a familiar face again. This time, it was my own. I quickly staggered to my feet. The snow ceased, and my surroundings changed once more. I was back in the warm place with the golden glow.
“You are special, Corran. Your heart is far more powerful than your instincts. There are few people like you in this world,” my doppelganger said, brushing her hand over my cheek. I stared in amazement at the novelty of someone who was identical to me in looks.
“What are you?”
“I can be your worst nightmare, or I can be your most pleasant dream,”
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“To guide you.”
“You’ve already said that! How is this guiding me?!” I shouted.
“You have to see that for yourself.” The figure transformed again, this time into a tall well-built man, his golden glow as strong as when my grandmother stood before me. At first I thought he was Simon. He looked much younger but had the same hair, build and stance. The man stood proudly, with a smile on his face, looking into the distance. He seemed happy.
“Simon?” I asked. The figure remained silent. I leant out to touch him, but as I did, he transformed again. This time, into the same man, but different. His long black hair was combed back in a tail, held fast by a thin leather thong. As my eyes studied his form I noticed a scar that cut diagonally from one side of his face to the other and a dark gaping hole where his right eye should have been. Memories of a cold Saturday afternoon flooded my mind taking me back to Grope Lane when this man had saved me from a dreadful experience by murdering a thug without a moment’s thought. His face was young, yet tired; as if worn by events long since passed. I reached out to touch him, drawn by him, but, as I did, his smile faded into a dark scowl and the glow was gone. What had happened to make him like this? I was startled when the figure turned abruptly to look directly at me. His eye locked on mine, staring, searching deep into my soul as if he had found something for which he had spent an eternity searching.
“It’s funny,” the man spoke with a deep grumble.
“What is?” I inquired.
“It’s funny how events can change a person,” he said, casting his eye into the distance, this time his look was yearning. A sadness consumed me, tore at my heart but I didn’t understand the pain. I knew this man, I knew him well, as well as I know my husband. But this wasn’t my husband. This was a man with a different life; a past of which I had not been a part of.
Was that it?
Was this what the Stag was showing me?
The product of things that could have been.
Was this my husband at the mercy of a different fate?
“Simon?” I asked again. The figure transformed, this time, back into my grandmother, regaining its warm golden glow back.
“No, my dear Corran. You’ve already figured out that I’m the Stag,” she said, smiling at me.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“He is the victim in all of this.”
“The victim of what?!” I shouted, irritated that she wouldn’t give me a straight answer. The smile faded from her face as she transformed back into Angus.
“When instinct becomes more powerful than the heart,” he said.
“I don’t understand…”
“He is the victim of
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