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La Sirène,
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152
a merchant ship of questionable seaworthiness, sail-
ing under a Dutch flag, commanded by an inebriated French captain. Everything
about the man irritated Owain his loud, disingenuous laugh; the odor of sweat,
salt, and cheap whiskey that clung to him like a second shadow; the too-
obvious leer he directed at Kendall. But the small boat was available to Owain
without delay. Allow-
ances had to be made.
Owain s brusque, compelling voice, utilizing the dark powers he had mastered
over the centuries, penetrated the captain s fog of alcohol and visited upon
him a rather abrupt sobriety. Owain gave or-
ders that, unless some emergency arose, he and his assistant were not to be
disturbed until the ship reached the southern coast of England past
Bournemouth.
The captain demurely acknowledged his instruc-
tions and then showed Owain and Kendall below to their cabin more accurately
described, Owain thought, as a large closet. But there was enough room for
both him and Kendall to stretch out, and, again, allowances had to be made.
The following days and nights blended one into the next without clear
division, a hellish montage of motion, noise, and heat. Apparently the cramped
cabin was adjacent to the ship s engine room, for as soon as the small vessel
was under way, its swaying and bucking on choppy seas was accom-
153
Dark Prophecy panied by the sounds of mechanical cacophony, the roar and
ominous rattling of strained machinery.
More noticeable than the pungent odor of diesel fuel or the continuous din,
however, was the sharp jump in temperature. At first the wall connecting to
the engine room, then the floor, grew hot to the touch. Within half an hour of
departure, the heat generated by the clamoring engine pervaded ev-
ery inch of the cramped cabin.
Owain noted the various unpleasantries without comment, without visible
reaction of any sort. The heat and the noise were to him a wall, a surreal
buffer against the harsh realities of the outside world, which had intruded
upon his settled unlife in the past months with such a vengeance. He had no
need for fresh air and no desire to stroll about on deck and take in the view.
There was nothing and no one Owain wished to see, and the fewer sailors who
saw him the better. So he and Kendall kept to themselves. They remained within
the rocking compartment surrounded by the heat and dissonant whine of
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machinery.
For much of the journey, Owain passed in and out of fitful slumber. There was
still much healing for his body to accomplish as he regained his strength. He
fed again from Kendall and could tell that she was still weak. Feeding from
her so often was dangerous for Kendall because of the physi-
cal threat, for Owain because it robbed him of the
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154
services of a skilled and vigorous retainer but des-
perate measures were in order, and once Owain was fully recovered, he could
easily restore her to the height of her endurance.
Owain awoke frequently, during daylight hours as well as night, driven from
rest by the ferocity of his visions. Often the distinction was subtle and
without meaning waking or dreaming? Was his hair, plastered to his face and
neck, wet from the moisture of the thick mist blanketing the hill where the
ominous tree awaited or from the condensa-
tion that coated every surface in the steamy cabin?
Did the hillside rumble beneath his feet, or had the ship passed into rougher
water? Was the taste at his lips his own blood as the tree crushed the life
out of him or the salty presence of the North Sea?
One world was as oppressive as the other, but while the domain of flesh and
blood made no de-
mands of Owain, his visions were peopled by those who held him responsible for
acts known and un-
known.
Hoard the nights that have fallen unto you.
The old man fairly spat the words at Owain.
I, Joseph the Lesser, tell you, it avails you nothing.
Joseph.
The name tugged at Owain s memory.
Jo-
seph&
But the old man, enraged, frothy saliva catching in his thick beard, raised
his staff above Owain.
The scene on the hillside whirled before Owain.
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Dark Prophecy
Joseph& the staff& the staff that had shifted and changed, transformed before
Owain s eyes into the infernal hawthorn. Always grasping, clutching, crushing
Owain s bones, piercing his flesh to drink of his unholy blood. Owain could
not free himself, could not move. His struggles availed him noth-
ing.
Before Joseph could hurl more invective at
Owain, however, before the hawthorn could plunge like a diablerist s stake
into Owain s heart, the ever-
present mist rolled across the hillside. Gone was the shouting; gone was the
old man, the tree. The fog obscured from Owain all sight, all sound, all
sensation save the vague impression of motion
swirling mist, rolling sea&
The passage of time also grew vague, stretching out into the blanketing mist
until the pause be-
tween two beats of a heart could be mere seconds or perhaps decades of silence
and stagnation. It was the heartbeat, his own heartbeat, that drove Owain
onward, for the mist did part, and he found him-
self still upon the hillside or perhaps again upon the hillside, the same
hillside, yet worlds apart from that which he had last experienced.
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The hawthorn stood serenely, innocently, not writhing and twisting, not
stained by blood, and there beside it stood Angharad, her white gown
shimmering against the darkness. It may have been the tears welling up in
Owain s eyes that lent the
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156
radiance to her raiment. He stumbled forward half-
blinded, full of wonder at the miracle of his furiously pounding heart, his
mortal heart.
And there, not a dozen yards away, awaited his only love.
His feet moved agonizingly slowly. They could not keep pace with the feverish
anticipation that pulsed with mortal blood through his body. Cen-
turies of stale death had served merely to mask, not to destroy, his desire.
With each ponderous step, he moved closer, never allowing his gaze to wan-
der from her for fear that she might again be stolen away.
Finally, Owain fell to his knees before her. He raised her hands to his lips,
and his tears fell upon her pale skin. He let the touch of the woman he d
abandoned hope of ever seeing again wash over him. His eyes closed against the
streaming tears, Owain reached upward with tremulous hand, slowly, until his
fingers came to rest on Angharad s breast. Her skin was smooth beneath the
gossamer fabric of her gown. A shudder ran through her body at his touch, and
she called his name with the pain of regret. Owain&
He kissed the curve of her belly and held her tightly. Her knees buckled, but
he supported her, kept her upright, but when Owain looked up, he saw that it
was not a lover s swoon that she suf-
fered.
Protruding from Angharad s chest was a gilded
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