The Southern Trail (Book 4) (49 page)

And he did.  The next thing he knew was the sound of the temple door opening, with sunlight flooding down though the oculus in the ceiling.  Ophiuchus was still with him, holding him in a hug, and the girls who opened the door looked in with astonishment at the sight of the spirit hugging Marco to herself.

“Go and call the others here.  I want all of you to hear what I have to say,” Ophiuchus commanded the acolytes, who immediately turned silently and ran from the open temple door.  She and Marco stood up.

“How is your heart, Marco?” she asked.

“I feel better.  I know I can go on.  Thank you, my lady,” he told her.

She took his hand and walked with him to the open door, then they stepped out onto porch steps in front, and they watched a dozen women and girls approach cautiously.

“Listen to my words,” Ophiuchus spoke in a voice that had an echoing ring, a commanding presence unlike the intimate tone she had used with Marco.  “This man is my beloved disciple, and he is to be treated with all the respect and courtesy that the high priestess herself should receive.

“Any time he seeks entry to any of my temples around the world, he is to be allowed and treated with all the kindness available.  Spread the word through every temple, and let every member of this cult understand.  Will you do so?”

“My lady, yes,” a dozen voices answered at once.

“Then all is well,” Ophiuchus answered.  “Marco, go and spread happiness, and feel happiness, and come back to visit me again, soon,” the spirit said as she turned and faced Marco.  She hugged him tightly and kissed him lovingly, then went back into the temple, and left Marco alone in the sunshine, standing on the steps of the temple, looking down at the awestruck crowd of women below.

Spread happiness and be happy
, Ophiuchus had told him.  He would do it.  It would be moral, and be done morally; it would be done right, and be done rightly.  But he would find happiness awaiting him in the world, he knew it now.

He looked at the women, who all were looking at him anxiously, ready to serve him.  He felt his stomach loudly growl, empty after a lack of recent meals.

“So what’s for breakfast?” he asked with a smile, as he started down the steps.  “I’m famished!”

Epilogue

It was a spring day in the countryside beyond Barcelon, early in the afternoon.  Marco was walking afoot, having left the Barcelon temple of Ophiuchus at the crack of dawn.  He was eager to reach his home eager to see Mirra and the son that he was told was waiting for him.  Marco had arrived at the temple the previous day at noon, sailed comfortably to the city aboard one of the ships that belonged to the isle.  He was a hero to the women, after reports of the spirit’s glowing comments about him had been broadcast throughout the village on the island.

He’d climbed down the mountainside and had another long conversation with Mitment and Folence, then sailed away the following day.  Upon arrival at Barcelon he’d gone to the temple, and found out from them that Mirra was not at the court of the Duke, so he spent the night in the temple, and finally set out to cover the last miles of his homeward odyssey afoot.

And at last, in the early afternoon, he was at the gates to his estate.  He used his sorcery powers to unlock the gate at the drive, and he walked in, then walked down the drive, with trees rapidly budding out all around him and overhead, turning the landscape a lush green that was a promise of life and growth and fertility, and that felt reassuring.

He was ready to see Mirra.  He was ready at last, after Ophiuchus’s comforting words, to look forward to the happiness that was ahead, instead of dwelling on the sadness behind.   The enchantment and sorcery power that had overwhelmed him and tied him into such close harmony with Ellersbine was a thing of the past.

Mirra would be kind and loving and happy to see him, he was sure, and he would be thankful.   And after a week or two of finding his place in the family and on the estate, he could begin to feel like he had a home, that he wasn’t a perpetual nomad.  Being beside Mirra would begin to feel comfortable and familiar at last, and he’d go out and look at crops, and visit neighbors, and appear at court, and he would know that the world was safe from the great evil, that the threat of a darkness-powered king with an eternal lifespan of terror was not a threat anymore, and he would be happy.

He rounded the turn in the drive, beyond which the palatial estate home became visible, and Marco smiled at the sight.  He walked with a casual stride; after hundreds of miles of travel, he was only a few hundred yards from the door that was at the end of his journey.

He caught the staff unaware, and entered the front hall unnoticed.  He heard a maid cleaning in a front room, and he smelled food cooking in the kitchen.  After a moment of feeling a hearty happiness and comfort in the hominess of the moment, he turned and went to the tower where the family quarters were.

The stairs were still the same spiral that he considered such a defensible advantage, though he doubted that he’d ever have to defend it.  He climbed up two stories, then stopped and listened.  There was a muffled voice singing a lullaby.

He followed the voice to a closed door.  “Now you go to sleep and enjoy your nap,” he heard Mirra say softly, in a voice that was full of love and devotion.  He cautiously opened the door halfway and stepped into the room.

Mirra had her back to him as she placed a baby boy in a crib.  There was a mirror on the wall above the crib, and in that mirror Marco could view the expression of pure and sweet love that was on Mirra’s face as she laid her sleeping son down.  She held still while hovering over the crib, and then her eyes looked up, and saw Marco in the mirror, Marco who had long hair and was unshaven, and who was covered in dust.

Her expression was a fleeting look of concern, then surprise.  Then she realized what she saw in the mirror, and her eyes grew wide and her face turned pale.  She spun around, and Marco stepped back into the hall.

But a moment later she was with him, after flying across the nursery.  She squeezed her arms around him so tightly he thought his ribs would crack.

“You’re home.  You’re home.  My nightmares are over!  Oh Marco, I have missed you so much.  Please promise you’re not going to go anywhere again,” she cried and pleaded.

“I am home, and I am not going to go anywhere again, and I am in love with you,” he told her, crying tears of joy with her.  And they walked arm in arm in silence down the hallway, no need for the moment for any words to be exchanged, as they enjoyed becoming a couple again.