Love After Death

    

➵

The rhythm of hooves echoed out over the vast mountain range. Two gray horses trudged uphill,  hitched to a carriage that rattled along the unforgiving road. The steel wheels scraped against the ice that had begun to freeze their axles. Snow had fallen for four hours without a moment’s respite, blotting the sun and adorning the mountains with white caps. The pass through the Whispering Mountains was not popular with the good people of Lowe. Most travelers would not risk the grueling trek. It was a mere day’s journey from one end of the pass to the other, but the winter weather was notorious. 

A loud snap shook the coach. The horses snorted and tossed their heads as the carriage dragged unevenly behind them. 

“Whoa!” cried the coachman. He drew the team to a stop. The footman and his companion, the butler, hopped down from the back seat and rushed to assess the damage.  One of the steel spokes, they discovered with grim faces, had cracked under the strain of the frozen air.

  “Repairable?” asked the butler.
“I believe so. May take a day or two,” answered the footman. “Either way, Lord Lowe will be displeased with this delay.”
“I shall deliver the news,” the butler announced. He straightened and took a fortifying breath that left a puff of white in the air. Then, he strode over to the buggy and rapped his gloved knuckles upon its door. After a moment it opened, and the face of a well-groomed man with streaks of silver in his dark blue hair leaned out. Impatience was etched in the lines around his mouth and in the sharpness of his clear blue eyes.
“Well, out with it. How bad is it, Percy?” 
“‘Tis repairable, my Lord, but unfortunately it will take at least a day in order to be mended properly,” Percy replied.
“By God! Just our luck! I knew taking this pass was too dangerous.”
“Father, do calm yourself,” said a second passenger within the coach. “We are not to be stranded indefinitely. We’ll be back upon the road in no time.”
“Yes, yes. But now we shall be set greatly behind schedule. And you are well aware of the importance of our appointment,” the Lord grumbled. “I do not know why we cannot simply take the Whispering Mountain Pass. It would be much shorter.”
“Neither do I, but, as we were forbidden by the Count from taking that route, I see no point in debating it. I, for one, rejoice at the opportunity to stretch my legs and warm myself with some exercise. Percy! The step, if you please.”
Percy stooped to set down the step rail and widened the coach door, offering a ready arm as he did. With the ruffle of skirts, a vision in blue emerged. The lady ducked her hooded head through the door, accepted the butler’s arm with a white gloved hand,  and alighted. She drank in the scenery with her sapphire eyes, savoring each and every detail nature laid before her. The glorious view of the mountain peaks did more to restore her weary soul than all the paragraphs of poetry she had read over the course of her journey. For the first time in months, the young lady’s heart was reacquainted with the feeling of joy. So much joy, in fact, that she took up her voluminous dress folds and frolicked through the untainted snow with a grand smile upon her blue lips. She felt like a young girl again as she stamped her footprints in the glittering landscape. 

“Isn’t it positively glorious, Father?” she cried. Her hood fell back, freeing her bouncing lavender locks and unveiling her porcelain face. At last she came to a halt, panting. She lifted her hands and snowflakes descended gently to greet her palms and full cheeks with cold kisses.
“My dear Arcelia, enough! I beg you to be sensible. Come back inside the coach, out of reach from this awful weather,” Lord Lowe said, hastening to exit the carriage after her. Disgruntled by the chilly air, he tugged his formal coat tighter about him. “You are bound to catch your death in this cold!”

Arcelia’s answering laugh was a light flutter on the wind. “Never fear, Father! Were I to truly catch death, I promise you, it would welcome me with warm arms.” 

Lord Lowe touched his wrinkled forehead, rubbing the creased skin between his eyes. “I wish you would not speak such morbid nonsense. Your humor will not be understood among the finer aristocracy.  The nobles shall think you are mad.”
“All the better!” Arcelia replied, stepping farther through the snow to examine a grove of trees. She traced the delicate icicles that dangled from barren branches with her gloved fingers. One cracked and fell. It shattered on the snow mere inches from her toes.
“I demand you return this instant, young lady!” Lord Lowe said. “I won’t have you wandering off!”
“I promise I shall not go far. I am a grown woman after all,” Arcelia called back. Lord Lowe shook his head, then looked to the butler. “She is far too excited. It can’t be good for her health. I don’t know whether to worry or to let her alone,” Lord Lowe whispered. “She hasn’t smiled like this in months. Not since... Well, you know.” 

“If my Lord pleases, allow me to keep a watch on the young Lady while you warm yourself,” Percy offered. “The servants are unhitching the horses as we speak.” 

“Very well,” Lord Lowe said irritably. The butler bowed and strode faithfully off after his mistress. 

A red bird peeked down from the top of a tree and chirped a little tune.  Arcelia spun about, her blue skirts twirling as she spotted the cardinal. It sang again, and Arcelia joined in, whistling back. Percy could not help but smile as he approached. The cardinal flew from its perch just as he came to stand beside his charge. They both gazed off into wood, enjoying the peaceful stillness of winter.
“If it weren’t so beautiful, I’d say the stillness is almost eerie,” Arcelia said. After a long pause, she whispered, “He would have loved this.” 

Percy grimaced. “They say it does no good to speak of the dead.” 

“It does plenty of good for me,” Arcelia replied, lifting her chin. Percy pressed his lips tightly together. A moment of silence passed between them before he broke it.

“Very well then, speaking of the dead,  have you heard any of the recent rumors about the Whispering Mountain Pass?”
Arcelia turned her head so quickly, her lavender tresses flung over her shoulders.
“The pass we are forbidden to travel, you mean? What rumors?” She tilted a brow.
“Yes, my lady. Rumors of the pass being haunted.”

Arcelia laughed. “Haunted? Percy, don’t be silly.”
“On my honor! Many travelers claim to have seen the figure of a man cloaked in black, only to lose sight of him with the shifting of the wind. A phantom, they call it.”

“A phantom you say?” Arcelia laughed again. “How ridiculous.”
“‘Why else should the Count warn you not to go that way? Just in case.” Percy grinned.
“Oh, stop teasing me. Surely you don’t believe in phantoms, Percy.”
“Of course not. Although, if any place should have a phantom lurking about to prove me wrong, it would be there. That pass is where the famous Battle of Frozen Tears took place. There must be thousands of soldiers buried beneath these slopes.” Arcelia’s scoffing expression melted to one of sheer terror in the blink of an eye.

“The...Battle of Frozen Tears was here?” she whispered, the words barely escaping her trembling lips. Percy turned to face her, alarmed at her change.
“Yes, my lady. But there is no need to worry, I assure you. ‘Tis only a ghost tale.”

“My father failed to mention we would be traveling by the very place where he...” she trailed off, her eyes still wide. 

“I’m sorry, my lady, I didn't mean to upset you. Was the field on which the Battle of Frozen Tears occurred not familiar to you?” 

“Not familiar, per say,” she answered slowly, “but significant.” 

Percy looked on in confusion until, suddenly, he came to a realization. “Oh! My lady! Had I known that was the battle… I would have never dared mention...” 

“‘Tis alright Percy. I know you wouldn’t have said anything to upset me intentionally,” Arcelia said, lowering her head. She lifted her sleeve to the corner of her eye and swiped away any trace of a tear. After a long quiet, Percy spoke once more. 

“I will say one thing about phantoms: If they do exist, I am certain that he would be watching over you and keeping you safe.” 

Arcelia turned her face away to hide beneath her hood. “If only.” A rush of cold wind whipped around them both. It was easy to spot the storm forming in the clouds. A shiver ran down Arcelia’s spine. She shuttered and stuffed her gloved hands into the pocket folds of her dress coat. 

“Shall we return to the coach, my lady?” Percy said, looking over his shoulder to where the footman was gathering wood behind them. “There will be a fire soon.” 

“Yes, please. I have some words to speak with my father,” Arcelia said. She took the arm Percy offered her, and they plodded through the snow, back to the carriage. The matching team of dappled grays had been untacked, their reins staked into the ground.  Arcelia approached one of the magnificent animals and ran a gloved hand over its fluffy neck. In the distance, she watched as the footman cast a spell, moving his hands in quick, short motions until a purple flame danced up from his palm. He steadied the flame, shielding it from the wind, and squatted to ignite the sticks he’d gathered in a neat pile. 

 “Darling, the fire is on! Come warm yourself,” Lord Lowe called. He stood with his gloved hands outstretched over the purple flames. As she drew nearer, Arcelia’s body rejoiced at the prospect of warmth. After first removing her gloves, she, too, held her hands over the crackling branches. The heat brought life back into her numb fingers, and she flexed them, flames dancing just inches beneath her palms. Lord Lowe withdrew a letter from the inseam of his jacket and perused its contents before replacing it. He cleared his throat. “I was pondering whether or not I should have the footman ride on ahead to give word of our delay,” he said, glancing at his daughter. “I would dislike for the Count to suspect we were deliberately taking our time.”
“Would not the footman be put to better use aiding the coachman in the mending of the carriage? The repairs would be finished much sooner with two sets of hands,” Arcelia said.
“Circumstances being as delicate as they are, I should not like to risk offending Count Sindri,” Lord Lowe insisted.  

Arcelia sighed, wondering why she bothered.

“Well then, by all means, send the footman.”
“I shall. It is the most sensible thing to do,” her father said, raising his chin. Lord Lowe was always greatly satisfied when his daughter came to see his side of things; notwithstanding the fact that she seldom, if ever, was truly won over but, rather, was too gracious to quarrel with him. Until now. 

“Father, why did you not mention we would be traveling past the very battleground where he fought and died?” 

Lord Lowe grunted. “Who told you that?” 

“Percy.”

Lord Lowe looked angrily over his shoulder at the butler, who ducked away and busied himself. Arcelia looked back to the fire, her hands cradling a cloud of floating embers. 

“Why must you force me to marry the Count?” she said. “I shall never love another man ever again.”  

“Now, that is untrue! Of course you shall.”  

“No, I don’t think I will. And no matter how hard you try to make me forget him, I never will.” 

“You ought to learn to. If you don’t, that would be most unfair to your loving fiancé,” Lord Lowe said. His eyes were hard and final as he looked at her. 

“I sincerely doubt Count Sindri even cares about how I feel,” Arcelia quipped. “He is a noble. And worse, he is a noble of sorcerer blood. You yourself have claimed sorcerers are a ruthless, power hungry race. Yet you seek to unite our people to them simply because it provides stability. How can you justify such a compromise?” 

“I was talking about the sorcerers in parliament at the time! Regardless, the Count is a respectable man and he wouldn’t have written for your hand if he hadn’t made up his own mind about you. So don’t try and make this solely about the money,” Lord Lowe spat.
“‘But he’s ancient!”

“Reincarnated, you mean. Being reincarnated is not the same as being ancient. He possesses intimate knowledge of his past lives, but he himself has not lived them. ‘Tis not as if I am allowing a hundred-year-old man to take you for his bride. Besides, he and his family have befriended our small land for decades. What nobleman with power ten times that of ours would willingly unite himself to us unless his feelings for you were genuine?”  

“I would stop pretending you have any real concern for my future happiness if I were you. We both know you only seek the status my new position will bring you.”

“Arcelia! Watch your tongue! I am your father. Of course I care for your happiness. Your mind is overtired from the journey. Perhaps the cold has gotten to you,” Lord Lowe said. Then, he placed an arm around her shoulder. 

Arcelia shook him off. “You stole my only chance at true love. All I ask is that you stop denying it! We have been tip-toeing around this subject for too long. No more. I must speak,” Arcelia said, facing her father with courage and dignity. “I tried to marry for love once and you intervened, claiming my lover’s affections were based on selfish desire for my inheritance. Well, you were wrong. You wouldn’t own up to it then, and I doubt you will now, but you were. And then, as soon as the war ended and our people were left destitute, you and the council leaders organized a meeting with this Count and strategically placed me there within his notice. Now, he suddenly writes for my hand in marriage? Say what you will, but it is no coincidence. I was offered up as leverage in your negotiations. And it wasn’t for my best interest. So I say again. You don’t care about my happiness. You only care about our people’s fortune.”

Throughout her speech, Lord Lowe had become increasingly agitated, and yet, now that it was his time to speak, his lips flapped for a full minute before he could formulate any words. At last, he managed, “We will speak no more of this. You must put your past behind you and make what is best out of your future, and that is all. I must speak to the servants.” Then he marched off towards the coachman and footman. Octavius was perhaps not the finest father, but at least he was candid. Arcelia could always respect that about him.

And he wasn’t wrong. Any misgivings she had about accepting a marriage proposal from this wealthy, influential sorcerer were not relevant. Her father had made it perfectly clear that refusing Count Sindri’s hand was out of the question. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. One could not ask for a more fortunate marital situation. In any other circumstance, Arcelia should have considered herself greatly blessed. 

From her place at the fire, Arcelia could faintly hear her father giving his instructions. The footman was to saddle up and ride on ahead to the sorcerer’s fortress immediately. Arcelia watched with a soft sigh as  he mounted one of the large gray horses and trotted away down the snow-covered road. She didn’t want to linger here with her dark thoughts. She needed to spend her last few hours of freedom soaking in the beauty around her and trying to forget about what a sad story her life had become.

“Percy?” she said softly. 

  “Yes, my lady.” 

“I would like to explore the area further,” Arcelia said, replacing her gloves. Percy turned and smiled. 

  “Certainly, my la-” 

“Percy!” Called Lord Lowe, waving his butler over. “We need your help with this coach repair business! You are far more experienced with these sorts of spells!” 

The excitement dimmed from Arcelia’s eyes. Percy gave her a look of apology. 

“I’m afraid I cannot act as your chaperone, my lady. But if you promise to stay close, I’m certain your father won’t notice your brief absence.” Arcelia’s spirits lifted. 

“You don’t mind?” It wasn’t a practice for her to be left anywhere on her own, especially since her engagement. 

“I’ll make an exception just this once,” Percy said. 

Lord Octavius Lowe was becoming impatient.“Percy! Make haste!” 

“At your service, my lord!” Percy cried back, then looked one last time to his young mistress. “Be sure to shout for me if you need anything.”

“I will,” Arcelia promised. 

Arcelia dashed to make her escape the moment Percy turned away. She didn’t plan to go far, so when she had made it around a snowy hillside and through a cluster of ice-covered trees, Arcelia slowed her steps. She panted, her pale cheeks flushed with the exertion, and took in the awe-inspiring nature around her. Winter had a way of enchanting even the most desolate of places. Had the rocks been bare and the ground plain, she doubted she could have enjoyed the scenery as much. There was something about snow that made Arcelia’s heart soar, even if it chilled her toes and nipped her nose. 

Fog drifted slowly through the trees, curling around the trunks and wafting toward the quiet place where she stood. It was strangely alluring, sweeping the land in its melancholy tide of gray. Arcelia’s mind flitted back to Percy’s warning about the phantom who was said to haunt this mountain pass. She had heard ghost stories before, but had never had reason to take them seriously. Growing up in a culture of magic wielders lent her to believe in the odd miracles that occurred on occasion, but no one had ever resurrected the dead, much less shown any real proof of ghosts. 

Yet standing here in the swirling fog, alone with her thoughts in the middle of nowhere, the possibility of seeing a supernatural being did not seem wholly impossible. Biting her lip, she waded through the murky current, letting the sweeping darkness act as her guide into the mountainside. To think, so many soldiers had died here… It chilled her to the bone. 

As she plodded along, not a single sign of life was to be found. There were only the sounds of her two feet crunching the snow and her rapid breathing. Was the temperature dropping? No matter. The exercise was keeping her warm. Besides, the trek was more than worth the effort if it meant she could enjoy being alone. Arcelia’s mind soon drifted to thoughts of her future. What would the life of the bride of Count Sindri be like? Would she ever find happiness in her new role as a sorceress? Perhaps the Count would be so kind as to teach her better spells than the basic ones she’d perfected in her youth. That was the best she could hope for. 

The idea of falling in love with Count Sindri was a feat too impossible for even her active imagination to conjure. True, he had been very kind and behaved admirably in her presence. His smiles had been pleasant enough, and his mannerisms tolerable. But the Count would never compare to him. 

She shivered, recalling the feel of his touch. There was a small tickle on the back of her neck, and she swore for a moment she could sense his warm breath on her skin. She gasped and closed her eyes. A trick of the wind. That’s all it was. Still, the familiar sensation was enough to make her heart ache all over again. A tear slipped down her cheek and dripped into the snow. Soon, she was taking deep, gasping breaths as she sobbed, hands over her face. The wound her lover’s death had left inside her heart tinged painfully. She feared it would never heal, and yet prayed it wouldn’t. Her pain and grief were the only things that kept his memory alive. 

A snap caught her ears, and she looked up to see the red cardinal perched on a tree branch above her. It looked at her and chirped once. Arcelia wiped her tears and watched the bird closely. Had the same one followed her from earlier? She wasn’t certain. She took a step closer, but the cardinal didn’t like that. It flew away into the darkening sky. The clouds crowded above her, morphing from a dull canvas into a dark palette of grays until they consumed the land in a curtain of black. More snow began to fall as the storm’s ferocity increased. It was time she returned to camp. Arcelia followed her footprints back through the forest, winding her way between the trees and low-hanging branches. 

She had just stepped over a fallen branch when a low rumble broke the still silence of the wood. Arcelia stopped. What was that? Her heartbeat quickened, pounding in her ears, and her gut clenched with a primal feeling of dread. Slowly, Arcelia looked around. The rumble sounded distant, as if it were coming from the sky. But it didn’t cease once its point was made as thunder did. The sound continued, growing louder and louder. Then the ground began to tremble. Arcelia gasped as the earth shuddered beneath her feet.  A terrible crashing echoed through the air, followed by many sharp snaps. That was when she saw it: A colossal wave of snow rushed down from the tallest mountain in the valley, tumbling and swallowing grown trees in its white wake. Arcelia screamed. 

Arcelia’s feet leapt into the air. She sprinted for a hundred meters and stumbled on a hidden rock, then collapsed into the snow. Frantically, she scrambled to regain her feet, but her cape caught on the trunk of a dead tree. Arcelia thrashed and pulled at her snagged cloak until it ripped. The tide of snow was fast approaching, and the delay had cost her precious time. She resumed her dash through the trees, her lavender hair streaming behind her. Without warning, she came to a sudden drop off in the snow and found herself flailing to keep from teetering off the cliffside. Her lungs seized, and she held her breath until she finally caught her balance. The rumbling behind her had not ceased, and one look down the steep slope confirmed there was no way to descend without a terrible fall. She had nowhere to run. She was going to die. 

Lungs on fire and legs going numb, Arcelia crumpled. She could do nothing but face her fate as the avalanche charged ever closer. Her final thoughts were not with her father, or Percy, or the life she could have lived with her new fiancé . In those last few seconds, her mind was carried to thoughts of her lost lover. Swallowing back her tears, Arcelia raised her voice into the wind. 

“I’m coming to you, Zohar! I’m coming!” She spread her arms out wide, welcoming her doom. 

A flash of red swished past the corner of her eyes, and the avalanche started to slow. It’s power and momentum dwindled. The billows of deadly snow ceased their charge and crumbled to a halt.  

Arcelia dropped her arms as a new reality sank in. She wasn’t dead! Somehow, by the gods’ graces, she was to live another day. Or was she? Arcelia stared up at the wall of snow before her that was tall enough that the tops of trees just barely protruded from its surface. Arcelia lifted a gloved hand to her face. She noticed the skin of her cheeks was numb to her touch. Her breath frosted the air with each ragged pant. Eventually the shock wore off from her limbs and she stood, though her muscles were weak from fatigue. She had just run longer and faster than she had in her entire life. Slowly, she turned to survey the gloomy landscape. Nothing but gray fog and deadly frost met with her blue eyes. 

“You must not panic,” she whispered through icy lips. “You must think. Think.” The snow storm had worsened during her brush with death, and the sight of its black dome above her made Arcelia tremble. 

“Shelter. I need to find shelter,” she said. All around her were mountains and trees. Only a few remained near her that were not flooded by the avalanche. She noted a small grove of birches near the cliffside. They, too, had nearly been pushed off the ledge to their doom. Arcelia walked over to them and placed her hand on the first tree she reached to steady her feet. Her heart still raced. Yet she was tired and aching from the cold. Peering through the grove for some sort of shelter, she spotted a set of trees that had fallen into each other, creating a small den beneath them. Arcelia shuffled over, each step laborious, and ducked under the felled trees.  She sat down, tucking her knees into her chest, and rubbed her gloved hands together. Her skin was pale as the snow around her. She knew she had to get moving, but she needed a place to rest during the snowstorm and gather her thoughts. A fire would have been a wonderful thing, but her hands were too stiff to conjure any magic between them. Were Percy and her father alright? Had they heard the avalanche? Had they seen it? Perhaps someone would come looking for her. This thought brought her a sudden spur of hope. Would they hear her if she shouted? It was worth a try.  

“Help!” Her voice wavered with her first effort. “Help me! Please!” Lady Arcelia tried again, but her voice was still so frail. The wind stole it away. Rest. She needed rest. Slowly, her eyes slid shut and her head drooped. She was in trouble. Deep trouble. It was an effort even to keep her eyes open. She told herself she needed to get up, needed to stand and start walking. Movement was necessary for heat. If she fell asleep, she might not wake. Yet even as these thoughts passed through her mind, she was already slipping into unconsciousness. A tree branch snapped, rousing her from her half-sleep.

Her eyes flew open, and a gasp escaped her lips. The ghostly form of a man hovered mere inches above her, his translucent face vacant of all expression save for the hunger in his cold gray eyes. All warmth drained from her body, and Arcelia stared, paralyzed. The phantom flickered in and out of focus, as if bits of him were being snatched away with the wind and snow. Even still, his handsome face was clearly defined and easily recognizable. Disbelief coursed through Arcelia’s mind. She wouldn’t believe it. After what felt like an eternity, a faint whisper filled the space between them.
“Zohar..?” 

The ghost’s lips turned up in the corners. Arcelia blinked, tears trickling through her frozen lashes. He was gone.  

“This can’t be…” she said. Then darkness overtook her. 

➵

Arcelia awoke with a jerk. The wind cried out violently, its distant howl echoing into her ears. When she opened her eyes, she realized she was lying in a snug cave. A small fire fought for its life only a few feet from her frosted boots. Despite the overwhelming cold, the little blaze brought sweet relief to Arcelia’s soul. She scooted closer in clumsy movements and let the warmth sink into her bones. When her mind finally thawed from its numb state, the memories trickled back. 

Her lover… She thought she’d seen him amidst the blizzard. She thought she’d heard him speak her name. Had she come so close to death that she’d seen beyond the veil? It was the only logical explanation. Arcelia pushed herself up to sit against the cave wall and extend her hands back toward the fire. She blinked.  

The fire…  Who had built the fire? 

Sparks flew and twigs crackled and popped as a fresh set of branches fell from out of thin air onto the pile. Arcelia yipped. 

“What sort of magic is this?” she said, staring at the fire. She glanced at her hands to confirm the spell was not of her own doing. Then a shadow crept into the corner of her eye. Only, when she took her first real look, it was not just a shadow. A phantom stood before her. Arcelia screamed and scrambled backward along the cave wall toward the exit. 

Translucent and shimmering in and out of view, the apparition morphed from the darkness into the soft glow of the firelight. Arcelia’s heart pounded violently beneath her breast. Icy tendrils of fear crept through the blood in her veins. Her mind tried and failed to reconcile what she was witnessing. The phantom was real, whatever it was. 

“Please, don’t hurt me...” she pleaded. The phantom halted its approach and Arcelia caught the briefest glimpse of the tall figure’s face hidden beneath its hood. It appeared human. Then it spoke.

“I mean you no harm, Arcelia.” Its voice was soft and strikingly familiar.

“H-how do you know my name? Who are you?” she demanded, then clamored to her feet. 

“The shadow of a man you once knew.”

“Sh-sh-shadows can-n-not speak,” Arcelia replied through trembling lips.   

“Can they not?” he asked. “Warm yourself. You are weak.” The blaze from the fire had increased upon his approach. More magic? After a moment, Arcelia extended her hands over the fire, though she kept her eyes fixed steadily on the spirit. The phantom watched her also, ghostly still.

“Are you a sorcerer?” Arcelia asked. 

“Of a sort…” he answered softly. 

“Are you under a curse?” 

The phantom nodded. 

“I thought I had seen someone I once knew… in the blizzard.” Arcelia looked down at the flames, recalling the sensation of icy fingers running down her cheek. “Was that a trick?” She looked up to watch the phantom’s reaction. The phantom hesitated. 

“No,” he said. Then he lifted a ghostly arm and pushed back his hood. 

Arcelia’s hands flew up to cover her mouth. It was no longer a phantom that stood before her. It was him. Zohar Black. The body of her lost lover flickered but, nonetheless, was there. 

“I-I don’t-” the words tripped and fell out of her frozen lips. 

“It’s truly me, Arcelia,” the man said. His eyes glistened, and his black hair fell about his face just as Arcelia remembered it. His dimples, even his wild beard. All of it was the same. Arcelia sprinted across the cave to throw herself into his arms. Zohar opened them wide for the embrace that never came.   Arcelia passed clear through him, her body meeting nothing but frigid air. She jumped back as if she had touched the very heart of winter. 

“Zohar!” she cried. “Can you not hold me?” 

Zohar tried to clutch her to his chest, but his limbs passed through her again. 

“I can at times,” he said helplessly. “I just can’t control it.” 

“Are you…” Arcelia couldn’t muster the strength to say it. Zohar spoke for her.

“Yes. I am dead. I don’t know why my spirit lingers here. I don’t know how even I’m talking to you or how you can see me. My existence is a mystery. At times I can move and interact with the world, and other times I can’t. All I know is that I am tied to these mountains and unable to venture to the world beyond.” 

Arcelia’s eyes widened. 

“But why?” 

“Because it is my grave.”

 As he spoke, Zohar turned and pointed to the back of the cave, his strong hand arresting all of her attention and directing her to a crumpled object she had not yet noticed. There, leaning at the back of the cave, was a frozen corpse. The flesh was gone, yet the armor and helmet were perfectly preserved over the bones. So, too, were the arrows sticking out of its chest from where it slumped against the back wall. Arcelia screamed at the horrifying vision. 

“Somehow, I am still tethered to it,” Zohar said. Arcelia’s vision blurred, and she turned away, tears flooding down her cheeks. She didn’t know what to say, so she stood in silence for a full minute and fought to regain her composure. Only when the battle was won did she dare to speak again. 

“I was going to die out there in the cold. How did you find me?” 

Zohar’s eyes shifted over to look at her. They glowed white. 

“Nothing happens in the Whispering Mountains without me knowing of it.” 

Arcelia swallowed. “In that case, do you know if my father is alright?” 

Zohar’s white eyes flickered and then faded back to gray. 

“He is safe. He and the others were not harmed by the avalanche.” Arcelia sighed, touching a hand to her chest. 

“Thank goodness. I was so worried.”  

“These mountains are treacherous. Why did you venture here in the first place?” asked Zohar. 

“My father was taking me to--“ Arcelia hesitated. How could she tell her lover she was engaged to be married to another man? “--to assist him on a business venture. But we were separated by the avalanche.” 

“I see…” Zohar said. He looked out of the cave to the snowstorm. “Your father should have known better than to test the might of these mountains. They kill without remorse.” 

Arcelia’s heart sank into her stomach. She had so many questions, and yet she was sure none were appropriate to voice. She would not make him recount the painful details of his death just to satisfy her curiosities. But she did need to know one thing. 

“Why did you leave me? Why did you have to go to war?” 

The question hung in the air, tossing and swirling with the wind between them until Zohar Black turned to face her. 

“I had to,” was his short reply. Arcelia’s heart lit with anger. 

“No! You did not! How could you go to fight when you knew I wanted to marry you? When you had asked me and made me the happiest girl that ever lived? How could you ruin our future this way?”  

“I’m sorry, my love,” Zohar smiled sadly. Arcelia’s anger softened, transfixed by his warm, hauntingly wounded eyes.

“For what?” 

“I never wanted to leave you. I never wanted to go to war. I wouldn’t have gone if I had any other choice. All I desired was to be with you. My every thought was, and still is consumed by you and you alone.” 

Arcelia swallowed back more tears. “Then why go?” Zohar Black’s gaze wavered momentarily, hesitation clouding those gorgeous gray irises.  

“Your father did not think me a suitable prospect for a son-in-law, but he also knew how determined I was to have your hand. He arranged my enlistment…”

Arcelia let out a cry. “I knew it!” She couldn’t stop the tears this time. They flowed freely. 

“Arcelia, listen to me,” Zohar said. Arcelia covered her face with her hands, unable to look him in the eye. 

“I had no fortune,” he went on. “I could not provide for you what you deserved. That’s a fact. You’re too good for a lowly commoner like me. I could never be worthy.” He reached out to touch her hand, but her hopes of his contact remained only a dream. Nonetheless, it was in that moment that Arcelia realized, with astonishing clarity, her heart was just as much with him now as it ever had been. 

“To me, you are the only man who could ever be worthy,” she said, with shining eyes. Zohar lifted a single finger, as if to wipe a tear from under her eye. His touch fell vacant once again, meeting nothing but free space. 

“Gods! I cannot even dry your tears!” he cried as he grasped for her. Arcelia watched as his hands disappeared somewhere inside her middle, a most disturbing sight. Zohar growled and spun away to pace the opposite wall of the cave. 

“I never would have willingly left you if I had the choice… But your father saw personally to my departure, and I could not escape the men who escorted me to the front lines. So I fought. I fought and I fought, all in hopes that I would survive and return to you. That was all I wanted.” 

Arcelia touched a hand to her temple, her mind swimming with this fountain of new information. “I knew my father didn’t approve of you, but I had no idea he would go to such great lengths to be rid of you. If I’d only stopped you from going to him to ask for my hand-- if we had just run away-” 

Zohar quit pacing and faced her. 

“It’s my fault and mine alone. I am solely responsible for my fate. Not you.” 

Arcelia hung her head. She glanced over to the fire, which had expanded in size threefold. Zohar looked to it as well and, almost instantly, it dwindled to a softer flame. 

“Did you do that?” Arcelia asked. Zohar flexed his hands. 

“I have some control of the elements.” 

Arcelia watched his hands, admiring the sheer strength of them. Admiring their size. Admiring the control he channeled into each movement, despite the power that flowed through him. The impression of those hands on her body burned bright in her memory. She let out a shaky breath. She longed to be held by him once more. She ached for him. 

“Do you have any idea what your new powers are for?” Arcelia took a step toward him. 

“I’m unsure. But I am allowed some privileges. It has made my entrapment here somewhat bearable. Exploring my abilities has been diverting, at least.”
“How were you able to move me before?” she asked.
“I was able to use the wind. I can lift objects with it, even trees.” He stood close, his hands hovering out to her once more. He hesitated.  

“Are you afraid you won’t be able to touch me again?” asked Arcelia, her voice little more than a breathy whisper. Zohar’s eyes flashed. 

“On the contrary. I’m more afraid of what I’ll do next if I can…” 

A fluttery feeling formed in the base of Arcelia’s stomach, and her heart skipped several beats before breaking out into a full sprint. Could he hear how fast it was beating? She removed her gloves and reached for his hands. They slipped through without any sensation. Arcelia looked at him. Zohar only nodded. Again. They tried several more times with no success. 

“This is infuriating,” Arcelia murmured. 

“I’m just happy I get to see you. To talk to you. I never thought I would ever again have even that opportunity,” he replied. 

“That is true. I must remind myself to be grateful. What are the chances we would find each other here, in this wild place?” Arcelia asked, looking out through the mouth of the cave. The storm was lessening enough to see through the snow and into the wilderness beyond. Stars danced faintly over the caps of the far mountains. Night was approaching fast. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Arcelia blushed. Zohar continued. “I think you’ve grown even more beautiful since the last time I saw you.” 

“If anyone were to overhear this conversation, they would think you’ve been the one reading all those silly romances, and not I,” Arcelia teased. 

“How many have you finished this year?” Zohar said, a playful twinkle in his eye. 

“Half a dozen.” 

“Only half a dozen?” 

“‘It’s only a few months since the year has begun,” Arcelia defended. “Give me another month and a quarter and I’ll have done with two dozen.” 

Zohar laughed. “How I’ve missed you.” His smile was so warm it melted clear through Arcelia’s soul and into her very being. “I wish with all my heart you could stay with me. Your presence would make my pitiful existence so much brighter...”

Arcelia’s soul soared at the idea. It soared like she had never felt it soar before. To be with him was all she wanted. 

“Why shouldn’t I stay?” she said. “It’s as you have said. These mountains are treacherous. My father will surely believe me to be dead. Why could I not make a home with you here?” 

“Do you not have obligations to your father? To your people? You are a Lady after all,” Zohar protested, frowning.  

An immediate twinge of guilt pierced Arcelia’s soul. The image of Count Sindri appeared before her mind’s eye, dressed in his rich blue coat with two servants standing behind him, gesturing her toward the colossal mansion in the distance that must have been his estate. Arcelia closed her eyes, fighting back the sudden sense of responsibility she desperately wanted to be rid of. But the sweetness of the moment had been tainted. Arcelia could not in good conscience continue to deceive Zohar with this secret looming in her heart.

“Yes,” she sighed heavily. “I’m loath to admit that I have not been entirely honest with you.” Fear rose in her throat, tightening the muscles there. She didn’t know how Zohar would react to this news, nor did she know if it were even relevant given her current circumstances. But she refused to hide the truth from him any longer. Her words captured his attention, and he tilted his head, a curious expression on his face. Arcelia mustered all the courage she could to say her next words. “My father has promised me to another man.” 

Zohar went eerily still. The warmth drained from his eyes. Arcelia held her breath. 

“To whom?” He asked at last.  

“Count Sindri,” she replied faintly. Zohar looked away and brought his hand to rest upon his chin. 

“The sorcerer?” 

“Indeed. My father arranged it all. He wants to elevate our family title and ensure our people’s fortune,” Arcelia explained rapidly, glad to have it all out and in the open. Silence hung between them. When he did not answer right away, she grew anxious.  “I’ve lost you again… haven’t I?” She looked down at her dress and began to fiddle with the hem of her petticoat. She couldn’t help but think she had just put a distance between them that transcended more than the physical realm. 

“Please speak to me,” she said, timid. Zohar stepped back from her. 

“You’ve given your heart to someone else.”

Arcelia sprang to her feet. “That’s not true! I don’t love this man. I met him only once, and if my father thinks me dead, I have no further responsibility to him or to the Count. I will stay here with you!” 

Zohar shook his head. 

“Your betrothal may be broken in death, but you are not dead. If your father or anyone else were to suspect you to still be alive, the sorcerer would surely come for you. Are you capable of willfully deceiving your father this way?” 

“He is the reason you were killed! He has lived a selfish, greedy life and thoughtlessly destroyed our love in his hedonistic pursuits. Now it is his turn to reap the consequences of his actions!” Arcelia said. Zohar only continued to pace. At last, he paused to examine her thoroughly. 

“You astonish me,” he said. Arcelia frowned at his announcement. 

“You despise me for wishing to stay with you? For wishing to resume what could have been--what should have been our future together?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Arcelia crumpled to her knees, then let out a cry of despair. Zohar stepped forward and knelt by her, his body still shrouded in a rippling curtain of light and shadow. Arcelia covered her face, humiliated and ashamed. 

“I have asked for very little in my life,” she said. “I never held any illusions of entitlement to things, unlike my father. My interests and my hopes have been meager. Until I met you. All I wanted was to be with you. All I ever will want is to be with you. My whole life I have catered to my father’s wishes in every possible way. But this I cannot do. Don’t you see? Now that I know you are trapped here, as strange a circumstance as it may be, how could I leave you? How can you ask me to go?” 

Arcelia stared at the stone floor, watching the light from the fire flicker upon its surface with each soft breeze that filtered through the cave. At length, Zohar answered her. 

“Arcelia, I love you with my entire being. If you think I will let you go so easily, you could not be more mistaken. I’ve merely been contemplating the best course of action. I have adored only one woman in my entire life, and that woman is you. I would serve you till the end of time. That is why, tomorrow, I shall go to your father and I will solve this matter.” 

Arcelia lowered her hands from her face, listening in astonishment. 

“My only fear is that I don’t even know if I could make a proper companion for you… If I could satisfy your needs here, like this.” Zohar gestured to his chest and then hung his head with a heavy sigh. “Though I still possess the ability to interact with you in some limited capacity, I am still dead. And you are still living. Death divides us. Your father might rightfully argue that our love is not meant for this world. Maybe in the world beyond, gods willing I ever reach it…” 

Arcelia perceived the torture in his eyes. How had she not seen it before? How must he have felt, living in this lonely wilderness with no end in sight? Unable to move on from the tragedy of his passing. Kept from whatever awaited him in the afterlife. No peace, no home, no companionship? Arcelia sniffed, wiping her cold nose with the back of her hand. 

“I would be foolish to leave you after everything you have sacrificed for me. I love you,” she said. Zohar extended a hand, experimentally, to brush a finger down her cheek. His phantom touch caused her to shiver. It was enough. Arcelia crawled over to him and wrapped her arms around herself. He set a translucent arm over her shoulders and encouraged her closer. Though she could not feel him, she leaned into his essence.  

“I cannot imagine what this must be like for you... trapped here without any end in sight,” she said, her head leaned against her knees. Her ear should have been near enough to hear a distinct heartbeat. But the space within his ribs was deathly silent. 

“It’s not been easy,” Zohar admitted. Arcelia had never heard his voice sound so sad. She dared to look over at the frozen corpse lying at the back of the cave. The battered remains of her lover. She had not wanted to look at it again. Now she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“You won’t have to be alone any longer,” she said. 

“No. I won’t,” Zohar agreed. The fire crackled, lulling Arcelia’s eyes to a close. She breathed slowly and deliberately, taking the frigid air deep into her lungs. Yet, she was the furthest thing from cold. 

➵

When she next awoke, daylight was streaming across her face. The snowstorm had broken, leaving the blue skies brighter than she had seen in weeks. She lifted a hand to block the blinding sun’s rays and shifted on the hard stone ground. Her body ached from the night on the unforgiving cave floor and from sitting half propped against the wall. The person she had fallen asleep beside was gone. Zohar was not there. Arcelia jumped to her feet, filled with dread. Had it all been some vivid dream? 

She darted to the mouth of the cave and scoured the rocky, snowcapped mountains, searching for any movement, any sign of him. Something to prove to herself she hadn’t lost her mind. Minutes passed before a small, red bird fluttered through the air to land in a nearby tree. It fluffed out its crimson wings and tilted its head to look at her sideways. Arcelia was oddly comforted by the bird’s presence. She offered it a smile, and it exchanged with her a head nod as greeting. Fascinated, she took a step closer. 

“Good morning bright one,” she said. The cardinal opened its beak to chirp in reply. Instead, it let out an unearthly shriek. Arcelia jumped back, and the bird flew away. She panted, truly scared by the encounter, and struggled to calm her racing heart. But then she heard it again. Another scream echoed through the mountains, this time carried by some distant gale. A horrifying chill skittered up Arcelia’s spine. She strained to listen and held her breath. A third cry dared to split the air. The winds attempted to snatch the sound from her ears, but they did not succeed.  

Without a second thought, Arcelia raced from the den and made her way down the mountainside. Carefully placed steps soon turned to strides that crashed through snow and sprayed powder in her wake. Trees and bushes faded away from her notice. She focused only upon the screams floating to her from the unknown. The war drum of her heartbeat set the pace of her legs and feet. Cold had left her fingers and toes, or, rather, her fingers and toes had left behind the cold. There was a flash of red feathers, and then she was cresting far above a snowbank. Castles of snow and towers of trees raced past her eyes, interrupted by a snake of gray that wove its way between them. Another scream ahead. A carriage lay overturned in a ditch off the road. The cart horse reared and struggled in its riggings while the coachman tried to steady him.

“Father!” Arcelia cried. The trees cleared, and the pass between the mountains gaped open beneath her. All at once, she was falling. Wind clawed mercilessly on her face, ripping tears from her eyes, forcing its way into her lungs. Another scream melded into the air. This time it was hers. The ground rose to meet her with ferocious velocity.  Nothing could be done. 

She was enveloped by darkness. 

Yet, it was not the darkness she had expected. She gasped violently, caught and hanging, suspended in a pair of large, black arms. She was twirled effortlessly between them, as if her body were weightless, until her face was turned through the fog and up to her rescuer: Zohar. 

“My love…?” Arcelia’s vision swirled, along with her head and all notions of what was occurring before her. “Where is my father?” 

“You were meant to wait at the cave for my return,” Zohar replied softly. 

“I heard screaming,” Arcelia protested, pushing against his mystical grip and flailing her legs for purchase of the ground. “Where is he? Where is my father?” 

“My appearance sent him into a wild frenzy. He was running away from me when the carriage slid on the ice and crashed into the ditch,” said Zohar, setting her down carefully. Arcelia flung herself wildly toward the overturned coach and the coachman. 

“Run!” cried the coachman, as he freed the leather straps from the cart horse. “Run!” As he screamed, he leaped onto the back of the horse and galloped away. 

“Father!” Arcelia called, rushing to the side of the coach where the door was supposed to be. She found it several feet off the side of the road. Beside it, a mangled body lay strewn upon a blanket of red snow. 

“Father?” Arcelia said, approaching slowly. There was so much blood, and his skin was as white as the snow on which he laid. Blue eyes stared vacant, his crisp beard stained with a trail of crimson from his lips. Tears pricked at the corners of Arcelia’s eyes, and she collapsed at her father’s side. She pressed her trembling fingers to his unmoving chest and began to sob.

“Father! No!” 

The shadow of a man cast over her, and Arcelia flinched away.  

“I’m so sorry, my love… I never meant for this to happen. I--I just wanted to talk to him. He didn’t believe me.”

“I should have been there. We should have gone to speak to him together,” Arcelia cried, throwing herself over her father’s still-warm body. 

“This isn’t your fault,” whispered Zohar. 

“But it is! This could have been avoided! He would still be alive if I had come with you!” 

“We don’t know that for certain.” 

“Arcelia?” said a faint, yet familiar voice. Arcelia turned to look at the carriage just as Percy emerged from within it. He coughed and stumbled out from the coach’s gaping door, stumbling to his feet. 

“Percy?” Arcelia gasped. 

“Arcelia, get away from here! Hurry!” he said, wincing and clutching his side. 

“Percy, there’s no need--”

“No! Behind you! The monster!” 

“Percy.” Arcelia rose and went to him, steadying him before he teetered into the snow. 

“Percy we don’t need to run--”

“He attacked us,” Percy said, coughing. Arcelia blinked. 

“He what?”

“Arcelia, we should go,” Zohar said, approaching fast. “He won’t understand.”  

“Stay back!” Percy said, stretching out his arm to shield Arcelia. 

“Arcelia,” Zohar pressed, looking to her with pleading eyes. Arcelia looked frantically between the two men: The faithful servant and the one she loved with all of her heart. She swallowed. 

“Percy, you misunderstand. He didn’t attack you. This is Zohar Black, the man I love. He just wanted to talk--”

“This phantom isn’t what he seems. He attacked your father and forced us to flee,” Percy snapped, spitting blood at the ground. 

“That’s a blatant lie,” Zohar said coolly. Arcelia’s heart began to race. A bracing breath of doubt washed over her as she stared into the translucent, shimmering face of her lover. His black hair whipped back and forth with the rising wind, and his eyes stared unblinkingly back at her. 

“Arcelia, you must trust me. I didn’t attack them,” he said, reaching out for Arcelia’s hand. She let him, but his touch passed through her, like it had so many times before.  

“I said, stay back.” Percy’s hands glowed purple with violet flames. Zohar halted his advance.

“Fool! Can you not see that I could not take her even if I wanted to? The decision must be hers and hers alone! I will not begrudge her if she leaves me.” A river of fog pooled into the space about him in thick, curling swirls. Arcelia took a step toward him. 

“I could never leave you,” she said. 

“Arcelia, this apparition has bewitched you,” Percy insisted. The flames blazed brightly about his hands. “You must run, and run as fast as you can. I will protect you.” 

Arcelia trembled where she stood. Zohar’s eyes remained fixed upon her, waiting.

“If you choose to stay, you will never see me again,” he said. His voice was somber, and his eyes held in them the grief she felt at the truth of his words. Indeed, if she fled with Percy, she knew she would never be allowed to return to these mountains. She turned to face Percy. 

“I must go with him, Percy,” she said, tears in her eyes. 

“No!” The butler screamed. It was then that he unleashed a powerful flame from his palm with a deadly thrust of his arm. The beam streamed straight for Zohar, but the fallen soldier was not unprepared. Zohar Black weaved away from the strike with perfect poise, the flames roaring past him and into the trees beyond. Percy was already summoning his next spell. 

“Percy, no!” Arcelia begged, falling to her knees. Zohar withdrew from his belt a glimmering, black broadsword that he wielded with both hands. Percy lunged with a beastly cry, and Zohar met the butler blow for blow, blocking each glowing fist with the flat of his blade. Arcelia scrambled back onto her feet, watching as her faithful butler battled in needless defense of her. 

“Percy, please!” Her protests fell on deaf ears. Percy’s fists came dangerously close to swiping across Zohar’s neck, then the fog billowed everywhere. She waved her hand through the blinding air desperately. 

“Zohar!” she cried. In the blink of an eye, he was there at her side. 

“We must run now,” he said. “Before he follows us.”

“But what about Percy? We cannot abandon him!” 

“He will be fine! His coachman will surely return to collect him.” Arcelia swallowed back her tears and darted after her lover’s lead over the road and into the nearest copse.
“We cannot return to the cave,” Zohar said. “It is too close to the road. We must travel deeper into the mountains, where no one will find us.” They ran and ran, branches whipping across her cheeks, until Arcelia was near fainting. When she could no longer stay on her feet, Zohar was by her side to catch her with a wall of wind, lowering her gently to the ground. He stooped beside her, and together they rested. 

“It was the only thing to do,” he said, after many moments of silence. Arcelia wept freely into her petticoat sleeves. 

“I’m so sorry,” Zohar whispered against her hair. “I didn’t want things to end this way. I can only hope that, in time, you will heal from this terrible wound.” 

Arcelia took several deep breaths, letting the chill of the air flood her lungs and slow her heart. “I don’t know that I will. But I do know this: I promised to never leave you, and I kept my word. If nothing else, I can take pride in that.”

“You are right. I am so proud of you for trusting me. I know how hard that must have been, to choose whom you would entrust your entire future. And I promise in turn to never make you regret choosing me over Count Sindri.”  

For a brief moment, Arcelia believed that bright lie that told her one day everything would work out for the better. She basked in the possibility that her choice, as horrible as it felt in the moment, would one day reward her. Then that bright lie was snatched from her. 

“Is that so, Windrake?” 

The new voice echoed through the wood, seeming to travel from every direction all at once. Zohar jerked, his body turning as rigid as a tree trunk. The powerful, all-consuming voice spoke once again. 

“I know your scheme, accursed one. The game is up. I command you to release her.” 

Zohar jumped to his feet, his hand traveling to the hilt of his sword. Arcelia turned her head this way and that, eyes roving rapidly through the trees to find the owner of the unfamiliar voice. 

“Who dares lay claim upon my lover? I command you to show yourself!” Zohar shouted into the wind. 

“You know well who I am,” the booming voice replied. “Return what you have stolen from me, or you shall perish once and for all.” 

“You would not dare to take her from me!” Zohar shouted back to the sky. “Not after all I’ve been through! She is mine, Count!” Arcelia’s eyes widened. Count Sindri. It could be no other. 

More frightened than before, Arcelia spun, searching in vain for any sign of where the Count might emerge. Shame’s suffocating grip seized her by the throat as she realized the gravity of her betrayal. There was no explanation that could absolve her of her crime. No apology would suffice. She had been caught red-handed by the reincarnate sorcerer she had sought to betray. Surely, he would show no mercy. And why should he? Arcelia’s soul cracked at the thought of her father. 

He was dead now because of her, and yet she still sought to abandon her loyalties and dishonor him by breaking the contract he had made? For what? True love? Was that what this was? 

“Very well. Your fate has been sealed,” said the Count, his piercing voice raining from the sky. Lightning crackled through the forming blanket of clouds, and Arcelia flinched, awaiting the sorcerer’s wrath. Instead, all she glimpsed above the trees was a single cardinal. It flew by, unbothered by the brewing storm, then perched on a nearby branch to look at her. Arcelia watched it, mesmerized, until the sound of Zohar’s voice broke her from the spell. 

“Do your worst!” he shouted, a daring grin slashed across his face. For a startling moment, Arcelia didn’t recognize him. He looked down at her and gestured to her to follow him. She hesitated. 

“Come, we must hurry now, my darling,” he said. Arcelia was slow to move. 

“Now, my love!” he urged, thrusting his hand out for hers. “We have no time to waste.”

“He will catch us,” she said through trembling lips. 

“He will if you do not move!” 

  “It won’t matter. He will find us…” 

“Don’t let his fancy tricks rob you of your courage! We already have a head start and will be safe so long as we hide well,” Zohar said. He turned his hand, and, with the flick of his fingers, a burst of wind shoved Arcelia stumbling forward. 

“Now move!” he cried and started to run. Arcelia followed, though she no longer knew why.

 The cold soaked through her boots and into the bones of her feet. When the snow became too laborious to navigate, Zohar blasted it away with the shove of a palm. His raw power was baffling, and Arcelia wondered once again how he had attained his abilities. Would they be enough to save them from the Count? The memory of Percy’s desperate charge and the fight that had ensued played in her mind. How had it all come to this? After a long while in anxious silence, Arcelia spoke. 

“Does the Count truly have the power to destroy you?” Zohar did not respond. Arcelia stopped to catch her breath. “What happens should he catch us? Will you die?”  Her lips trembled, not just from the chill. Zohar turned to face her where he had halted a dozen feet away. 

“That will not happen,” he said. 

“But if it does,” Arcelia insisted, drawing her cloak tighter about her. 

“Have you no faith in me?” Zohar fumed, a tide of fog emanating off his ethereal body. “We have come this far and you still don’t trust me?” 

Perhaps it was the stern look that had morphed onto his face, or maybe it was the slow, menacing way in which he approached her, but it occurred to Arcelia that she did not feel safe with him. Death had hung a wreath of torment about her lover’s countenance, tainting him in a way she had not acknowledged before. She had been so overjoyed upon first realizing it was him that the subtle differences of his person had been all too easy to overlook. 

“Zohar… Why do you ignore my concerns? They are valid, and it is not like you to disregard my feelings,” she said, her jaw tensing. 

“We’ve no time to quarrel, dearest. Too much is at stake. We must hide now and speak more later.”

Arcelia shook her head.  

“Please,” he said. “I will not ask you nicely again.” 

Arcelia’s heart shuddered within her chest. A crack had torn somewhere down the middle of her confidence and the seeds of doubt now began to sprout from within. Nothing about this felt right. What was that word the Count had called him? Windrake. Arcelia was taken aback. She had seen the name written only in history texts, describing an extinct race of wind wizards whose bodies could shift into different forms. But they had been gone for centuries...

“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked. Dark clouds loomed above her in the sky, shrouding the landscape in gray. Lightning cracked its cruel whip and, for a moment, its light slashed across Zohar Black’s form, replacing the man she once knew with a monstrous creature. Arcelia gasped and jumped back even as the light faded and Zohar’s familiar face was once again before her. Was her mind playing tricks? 

“Z-Zohar?” One of his great black boots stepped forward, then another. Arcelia backed away quickly, maintaining the distance between them. Zohar’s eyes pierced red, like two embers in the night.  

“Do not test me, Arcelia.” 

“Zohar, please, don’t be angry with me,” Arcelia quivered. 

“If you think I am angry, you are quite mistaken, my love. You’ve seen nothing of my anger yet. But we are getting to it. Will you or will you not do as I ask?” the dead man challenged. His body left the ground, hovering, and drifted toward her. 

“I-I--” Arcelia stammered. Her heel hit a fallen branch, and the shock of it knocked her off balance. Prone in the snow, Arcelia felt like prey about to be consumed by a predator. The raw vulnerability of her position launched her mind into a full panic. Percy’s voice echoed in her head. This phantom isn’t what he seems. He attacked your father and forced us to flee...  

Adrenaline seized what strength was left in her muscles and bones. She scooped snow into her hand then hurled it in Zohar’s face. The shot flew straight through him with no effect, but it was enough of a diversion for her to flee. 

“Why do you run from me? I have done nothing to harm you!” Zohar cried, his voice permeating the wind. She dared not look over her shoulder. Instead, Arcelia ran for the road. Zohar’s desperate pleas echoed out to her. 

“Where will you go without me to care for you? You will die in this wilderness alone!” His words spoke of concern, yet his tone conveyed only intimidation. Arcelia ignored him and continued to run. The sun had disappeared, its light smothered by the snowstorm. Shards of ice now rained from the heavens, falling so heavily that they cut into her neck and shoulders as she ran. Pain pounded throughout every fiber of her being But Arcelia did not stop. 

Lightning flashed again, and the shadow of a beast roared up in the snow before her. 

“How dare you run from me!” Zohar said. Arcelia screamed and swiftly dodged the shadow beast’s attempt to reach for her ankle. A few long strides later, a snowbank betrayed her with a sudden dip, and she tumbled down the embankment, limbs and skirts flailing with clods of snow until she hit the bottom of the sleet slope. The ground she had fallen onto was sharp and rough. Her palms and knees scraped against stones as she attempted to stand, and her wobbly knees felt little better than stilts once she found herself standing upon the road. She spotted a horse standing a hundred yards down the pass. Was this a miracle? How had the cart horse found her? Where was the rider? Arcelia scurried over to secure the animal. It shied from her at first, and, when she grabbed a hold of the horse’s reins, she saw why. 

A limp body hung from the horse’s back, attached to the animal’s coach harness with the leather straps tied to his waist. The coachman’s head was bashed in, blood frozen to the side of his mangled face. Arcelia screeched at the horrid sight, and the horse spooked, tearing away from her hands. It galloped back down the road along with any hope she had of escaping. Sleet continued pouring, slashing at what was left of her tattered dress and weary soul. She wiped the rain from her eyes and face only to hear Zohar’s voice ripple out to her again.

“I love you, Arcelia. Don’t you understand? We are meant to be together.” 

Every inch of her flesh trembled. She turned slowly. He stood in the middle of the road, his black robes billowing in the wind of the storm and his dark hood covering his haunting red eyes. 

“I don’t know who you think you are, but you are not the man I once loved!” she shrieked.

“How can you say such a thing?” Zohar’s lips turned down under his hood. “Twas just last night you begged to stay with me. It is no use running now. You have no one else to turn to. The Count won’t take you back after you’ve willfully betrayed him. Then what will become of you?” 

Arcelia covered her face with her hands and began to sob. Maybe it was delirium. Maybe it was the last shred of self-preservation she had. Either way, she decided she would not give in. She swept the freezing tears from her eyes and clenched her fingers into fists. 

“No,” she answered. Purple flames licked her palms and up her hands to her wrists. 

“No?” Zohar challenged, taking one giant step forward. Yet Arcelia’s confidence rose, building in her chest until it burst out her throat. 

“No!” she screamed. And with all her might, Arcelia cast the largest flame spell she could muster, then hurled the blazing stream of violet fire straight for the dead man’s head. 

Zohar raised his sword and deflected the attack, sending it hurtling to the ground, where it lit the snow aflame. 

“You’ve just made a terrible mistake,” Zohar said, his voice as cutting as the sleet storm. He raised a hand and  entire trees were ripped from the ground where they had stood by the road, their roots splitting from the frozen soil to dangle freely in the air. Arcelia’s eyes widened with the revelation of her doom. Zohar hoisted the trees higher while shadows enveloped his body, morphing him into a monster of horrifying proportions. Its horned head thrashed side to side, gnashing long fangs in delight and flicking a forked tongue. Her heart failing, Arcelia strained to cast her last spell. She could summon only a single flame on her finger tip that fizzled out in less than a second. 

Arcelia sank into the snow, accepting her fate. Zohar began to laugh and funneled the wind and  trees around them in a massive tornado. 

“You see? You are powerless without me!” he cried. “I will protect you if you come with me.” 

That was when she heard the horn. It blasted through the storm and, in one mighty gust, threw back the curtains of the sky, releasing the full force of the sun in all of its brilliance. Arcelia lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sheer brightness. The monster shrieked, dropping the trees, and lifted his sword as a spear of blinding white sliced down from a ray of sun. Several more spears followed, singing through the air and embedding into the road one after the other in a row. The spears were tall and bright, and they acted as a barrier of light, shielding her from the reach of the shadow monster. No sooner than Arcelia had realized what was happening did she hear the sound of hoofbeats behind her. She spun around and was met by the sight of a white stallion galloping toward her. Upon the stallion was a man in flowing blue garbs, a silver staff clutched in his right hand. He was flanked by two other men on horseback carrying flags of blue and silver bearing the house insignia of Count Sindri. 

“Lord Sorcerer,” Arcelia gasped, immediately bowing with her face and hands flat to the road. His stallion slid to a halt just before her. “Rise, Lady Arcelia,” said the man astride it. Arcelia’s gaze traveled up, past the magnificent animal’s colossal hooves, the shining black boots, and the armored body in blue, till at last she met with the warm eyes of the Count. 

“It is a pleasure to see you again,” he said. He then offered his gloved hand to her. Without hesitation Arcelia took it. In one smooth motion, she was whisked onto the front of the Count’s saddle, her back pressed to his chest with his arms securely around her. The stallion pawed the ground, growing anxious at the sight of the shadow beast. Zohar Black paced along the spears, growling so fiercely it sent tingles down Arcelia’s spine. 

“I gave you fair warning, Windrake,” said the Count from behind her. Zohar Black charged. The spears sparked with lightning and struck his shadowed body with tremendous force the moment he drew near. The shadow fell to his knees, huffing. 

“Arcelia! Curse you and your precious Count for abandoning me here!” the shadow beast bellowed. Arcelia flinched. 

“What are you? Tell me the truth,” she said. 

“I am your true love, and you are nothing but an unfaithful wench!” 

“Lady Arcelia’s only fault is that she fell for your deceptions,” the Count said. “Now tell her the truth, or I shall.” 

Zohar roared, shaking his horns. “I am Zohar Black, a Windrake and indentured servant to the House of Sindri,” the monster began. “Hundreds of years ago, the last of my kind were at war with our mortal enemies, the Wolfspirts. My people’s numbers were dwindling, and it was here, upon this very mountain, where our final stand for our race’s survival took place. The battle was bloody, and, in the end, I was the last survivor. However, my injuries were beyond anyone's ability to heal, and it was then that a sorcerer found me. But not just any sorcerer. This was the Sorcerer of Sindri, one of your Count’s former lives. With my dying breath, I begged him to save me, by any means necessary. The Count told me the only spell that could save me was an immortality spell.”

“But for that, the cost was steep,” interrupted the Count. “My former life, Crispin, took pity on him, but he warned that in exchange for immortality, the laws of magic demanded Zohar be bound to his rescuer in eternal servitude as recompense.” Arcelia swallowed, looking back and forth between the men.

“The deal was struck, and I was brought to the House of Sindri and turned into his personal slave,” Zohar said.  

“You were considered one of our own! You were highly regarded by each of my ancestors, and you were my closest confidant,” said the Count. “Your betrayal shook me to my core.” Arcelia turned her head to look at the Count, taking in his grim expression and the hurt in his deep brown eyes. 

“What betrayal?” Arcelia asked.  

“You and your past incarnations made me little more than a glorified slave!” the Windrake hissed.

“Lies! I asked no more of you than the deal stipulated! Now finish the story,” the Count commanded. Zohar’s anger flared and the shadows about him increased ten fold, but the silver spears flashed again. 

“Last year I was assigned by the Count to protect you. Your family lineage is very important to the House of Sindri, and he desired you for his future bride,” Zohar said. “He entrusted to me the task of ensuring you and your people were not destroyed by the Great Frost War. I was never supposed to speak to you. I was only meant to guard you from afar. But the moment I saw you, I fell for you. You bewitched me…” Zohar’s flashing red eyes pierced over to the Count. “The moment your father suspected our love, he sent a message to the Count. The Count’s answer? To banish me here, to the Whispering Mountains, to fight in the Battle of Frozen Tears and protect you and your people from afar. He punished me, imprisoned me in this place, all because he couldn’t face the fact that you were in love with me.” 

Arcelia felt feverish. A faintness crept into the back of her head, and she tilted in the saddle, strength waning. The Count clutched her closer to his chest.

“I trusted you to protect my betrothed, and you stole her out from me,” the Count said to the Windrake. 

“She had yet to even meet you! How could I have stolen what wasn’t yours to begin with?”

“Love based on treachery is not love at all. And you above all should have known there is no love after death. Did you truly believe yourself to be acting in her best interest? You deceived her and manipulated her affections! You would have her throw away her future to bind herself to a man whose life is indebted to another. I banished you as a mercy! You were deserving of far worse.” 

“Do you not hear his arrogance? His conceited sense of moral superiority!” Zohar cried, now addressing Arcelia. “I am the one who fought for you, to protect you, to give you freedom!”

“You cannot give her what you do not have,” the Count said. 

“Arcelia, if you abandon me, you will regret it forever!” Zohar cried. The beast’s tongue lashed through the air and smoke rose from its jaws when it spoke. Arcelia wished to apologize, or in the least, form some kind of explanation. But she was too tired and too ashamed to defend herself. The Count spoke for her. 

“No, Zohar. You abandoned yourself the moment you sold your soul for immortality.” 

Zohar stood in stunned silence for a tense moment. Then he charged the spears. Enraged, he broke through their magical barrier, enduring their shocks, and raced toward  Arcelia and the Count. The white stallion reared, and the Count jutted out his staff. A stream of blue lightning snapped out from its glowing tip and leveled the Windrake to the ground in a steaming pile of ghostly flesh. 

“’Twas my hope you would reconsider your allegiances and come to see the great error of your ways. Instead you sought to steal and corrupt my bride. For this, you shall pay the ultimate price,” the Count declared. 

Count Sindri lifted his silver staff high into the sky. It glinted in the sunlight. In a flash of blue light, the shadow beast’s body was lit with lightning bolts that etched across his black skin,  splitting him apart. Zohar Black let out one final cry and then was gone.

Arcelia stared in disbelief, unblinking. The white stallion danced beneath her and she grasped on to its mane even as the Count’s hand tightened about her waist. 

“I’m sorry for all that has happened, my lady,” spoke the Count. “May you ever forgive me for my negligence?” 

Arcelia arched her neck to behold the man who had saved her. The powerful sorcerer was astoundingly more youthful and attractive than she remembered. But what struck her the most were his brown eyes. They were rich with remorse. 

“On the contrary, my lord. It is I who should be asking your forgiveness,” she answered. “I am the one in the wrong. I am wholly undeserving of your affection… and I understand if you wish to break off our engagement.” 

“We both made mistakes. But I see no reason to break off your father’s arrangement. We shall talk more once you are well,” he replied. Then the Count turned his stallion back down the road and asked it to canter. Flanked by the two soldiers, the party began their journey out of the mountains. The rocking of the horse’s smooth gait and the warmth of the man’s safe embrace soon lulled Arcelia to sleep. 

➵

The next few days were a feverish blur. Arcelia’s health had taken a horrible toll in the aftermath of such trauma, but the Count provided her all the amenities and care necessary to ensure her full recovery. Percy stayed by her side, entertaining and soothing her morning and night until the day her fever broke.

Five days later came the eve of the Winter Solstice. Arcelia sat at the vanity in her luxurious bedroom, staring at the stack of travel cases that had been retrieved from the wrecked carriage two nights past. Her father’s body had been collected as well, and his funeral had been held that morning. Throughout the somber affair, Arcelia had decided to keep only one thing from her father’s person: the letter he had kept safely within the inseam of his jacket. This same letter now rested in her hands. She turned it over and over before finally gathering the courage to open it. This had been the letter to start it all. She took a deep breath, and read.

Lord Octavious Lowe,

I cannot express the joy I felt when I received your last letter. I look forward to the pleasure of entertaining your lordship and my future bride at my estate within a fortnight. Please allow Lady Arcelia to know my thoughts have been with her every day since our last encounter and that I humbly look forward to sharing my home and my heart with her very soon. I have listed below a few instructions in regard to your travel arrangements. The Whispering Mountain Pass is by far the fastest route, but I forbid you from taking it, as it has been increasingly dangerous for travelers of late. Disobeying my orders will demonstrate an act of disloyalty on your part, and will result in the dissolution of the engagement...

 

The sound of gentle knocks on her door startled Arcelia from her reading.

“Am I interrupting?” asked the Count. 

“Not at all. Come in,” Arcelia said. The Count moved into the room and closed the door quietly behind him. 

“I wanted to see how you were faring. And to make myself available in case you have need of anything,” he explained. 

“Thank you. I’m alright,” Arcelia said, folding up the letter. The Count noticed what she was holding and took a deep breath. 

“Perhaps now is as good a time as ever to discuss the matter of our engagement,” he said. 

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Arcelia nodded, bracing herself for the worst. She had spent the last week anxiously pondering whether or not the Count would wish to break off their engagement after all. In fresh light of the letter’s demands and all the trouble she had caused, she would not blame him, even if the thought did make her feel like a complete failure. The Count approached slowly until he stood before her and knelt. 

“Lady Arcelia. It is my feeling that we should proceed with our engagement plans and set a date for the wedding. I know the news of your father’s death must have your people frightened and less certain of their future than ever before. But on a more personal note, I want to marry you. Not just out of obligation to your father, but because I have witnessed your loyalty and bravery firsthand. Despite the tremendous hardships you endured, you’ve proven yourself a woman of virtue. It is true I have had an interest in you for some time now, but in recent days, that interest has developed into an earnest affection. I would be honored to have you for my bride.” It was then that the Count paused. He looked down and swallowed. “However, all of this would be inconsequential if you had feelings to the contrary. I am not comfortable with moving forward until I know where your heart lies on the matter.” 

Arcelia listened to the Count intently, turning the folded letter over in her hands again and again in a self soothing manner. When he finished speaking, she dropped her eyes to it once more while considering his words, and, for the first time, beheld the seal upon its envelope. The red wax of the seal was stamped with the unmistakable image of a cardinal in flight. Eyes widening, she lifted the seal closer for better inspection and whispered, “It’s you…”

“My lady?” asked the Count. Arcelia’s eyes returned to the face of the wondering sorcerer and she smiled. 

“Is tomorrow convenient? I would love to be wed on the Winter Solstice.”