Isolde: Blood-Rose Guardians (a supplementary novella)
Distant Shores

It took me almost a year of hidingand backtracking to make it safely to Ireland. The green jewel in the summersea seemed remote enough to offer me a safe existence, far from the watchfulgaze of Marcus and his minions. I hoped to replace my beloved William there, butas the weeks turned to months, and the months to years, I despaired that such areunion might never occur. I listened of course, for the stories of the men ondistant shores fighting their great battles against the marauders from the sea,hoping to hear his name, but alas, I never did. The years became decades andthe decades, a century and I lost all hope that William and I would ever meetagain, for his mortal life had surely ended years ago. Though no man would everfill my heart like William had with his kindness and giving nature, I grewlonely and did hope to replace another to warm my heart if not fill it completely.It was a bizarre twist of fate that the next man to romance me into his armsshared the same name as the man who had taken me from my beloved so many longyears before.

Tristan caught my eye while on a mission for the Church. Hehad claimed to hunt heretics and witches and was based at the monastery ofLindisfarne. I met him by chance outside the monastery walls when I attendedthe markets the monks held each week of summer to support their income. From mysmall cottage upon a hill, I could see much of what went on within themonastery walls. I had watched the monks at work for long hours each day and asI collected herbs and barks for my potions, I had heard them whistle delightfultunes. I had become something of an apothecary over the past century. Within myhumble abode, stone and occasionally glass phials lined the walls containingall manner of herbs, spices, minerals and pigments. Though I lived distant fromthe village, people often wandered to my cottage to gain medicines for whateverplague or discomfort ailed them. I had spent most of my last lifetime studyingthe effects of various poisons and intoxicants on subjects - animal and humanalike. I had then used my knowledge and skills to devise antidotes, or at leasttreatments, to many of the poisons. I sold, for a few coins a soldier’s protectionkit, containing barks, herbs and charcoal that provided antidotes and relieffor the common poisons used to lace the blades of weapons. The main offenderswere the venoms of poisonous sea creatures, such as the pufferfish – it is verytoxic with the effect of paralysing the poor soul whose skin was incised with ablade covered in the toxin, and yet they remain fully conscious and aware oftheir situation. The venom of the sea-snake too was a potent paralyser andbecoming increasingly common as the shipping routes were extended into tropicalwaters. I had potions and elixirs for just about everything a person couldexpect to need at that time. I had even managed to make a concoction againstthe dreaded bubonic plague, but the mould used to make it had a limitedshelf-life and an infected person had only a short time to be treated beforeblood-poisoning would take them to their quick and painful death. On the darkerside, I also manufactured protective ointments – one in which you could poisona captor and escape their evil clutches. I sold these only to woman and it wasa secret that they were even created. Only the most trusted could acquire asalve to render their raping ‘husband’ impotent, or a draught that would ensuresleep carried their aggressive master away before they had the opportunity topunish. It was in this collection that I created a red pigment so lethallytoxic to vampires that I took great care not to expose my own skin to it. Itcontained a fatal blend of mercury-based pigments that poisoned the unwelcomevisitor. I called it Blood-Rose, aname sure to entice a vampire, for there were naught amongst us who couldresist the temptation of anything offering blood. I then circulated rumours ofits existence and ‘magical’ properties within the community. A population grownfearful since the onslaught from the Vikings had begun and since the witchtrials shredded communities across Europe and moved ever westward towards us.In all honesty, there was nothing magical about the original pigment – exceptthat it took the immortal life of a vampire away and its reputation assomething powerful was mere rumour spread to entice greedy vampires to beexposed to it. The beautiful red of its paint made it a favourite amongst themonks who decorated their books with illuminations bright and beautiful in thequiet hours of their days. I sold a great deal of this and a rich blue Iextracted from ultramarine to the monks at Lindisfarne.

On occasion a vampire would knock on my door and request atattoo with the pigment. Of course I would oblige, as far as I was concernedthere were far too many vampires in the world. Not one of them survived I amhappy to report. At one point a vampire woman of such regal standing visited meand procured a significant amount of the pigment along with other medicinalpotions and elixirs. She was beautiful and exotic and claimed to be the wife ofthe new king, Arthur – a man rumoured to be fair and just. I did not usuallyask what my potions and unguents were to be used for, sometimes it was betternot to know, but this woman seemed to read my mind and answered me before I hadvoiced the question.

“In the service of the Light,” she had answered.

“Against the Darkness?” I had continued the conversation outloud.

“Against those who are evil and dark of heart and soul.”

I nodded and thought that there was no better way to employmy services than in aiding this woman fight the darkness that surrounded andattempted to overwhelm us in these mediaeval times.

“I welcome your support, Isölde.” She spoke my true name,though I had not used it in such a long time.

I had spread the rumour that Isölde had died many years pastand even created a head stone for her fictitious grave. I claimed that I washer very distant relative: Jordan. This woman knew me for who I was despite mycharade and this was cause to eye her suspiciously.

“Your secret is safe with me, Isölde. I guard many secrets.”

I nodded and wrapped her purchases in a piece of handmadepaper procured from the monks.

“May I ask your name great guardian?” I asked her.

“My name is Guinevere, and I take you, Isölde, into myconfidence for the information we have just shared. There will be much darknessin both of our futures – but eventually the light will come – hold on to thatbelief, for it is as true as I stand before you – whatever darkness you face,believe the Light will come for you. It will not be soon; there is muchhardship yet to come, but give us service and we will bring you to the Light.”

I nodded, shook her hand when she reached for mine andwatched her depart, my hand now filled with a generous purse full of goldcoins. It was an odd message Guinevere had given me, but one she had professedwith such intensity that I believed her. There was something different andstrong about her. I believed she was a Guardian in the sacred sense of theword. It is that belief that got me through the great period of darkness thatwould consume most of the next millennium of my immortal life. If that womanhad not made that statement at that time – then I am sure I would have succumbedto the ease and temptations of the darkness so soon after having been exposedagain.

It was here in Ireland that the second Tristan stole myheart. He had come as a witch hunter and my apothecary obviously was the targetof his raid, but from the moment his eyes caught mine I was enamoured of thisman. He reminded me naught of the other Tristan who had taken and turned me.This Tristan appeared kind and caring. He gave me flowers and fruit and courtedme so sweetly I was certain he would fail in his duty to eliminate the ‘witch’and her apothecary. It was a long time after Guinevere’s visit that he came,but I remember it as though the two events were quite close together – and whencompared to the span of my life – they were close.

Tristan invited himself into my life, and it was aninvitation I felt no need to turn away. He romanced me with sweet sonnets anddelicate verse. He loved me with a passion I had not felt since the days ofWilliam. I feared and questioned him naught until on one of his visits Inoticed the red stork on his back. I had seen the stork before, on flags in atent. The tent where I had first seen my captor wrapped tenderly in the arms ofhis lover. I recall that a sudden flush of adrenalin had heated my soul. MyTristan could not be the Tristan of before – I had killed him, decapitated himwith the blade. It wasn’t possible that this man who made love to me now, wasthe same man who had taken me and bent my will to his own selfish desires. Idared not ask him in the beginning. I did wonder what pigment had made thattattoo though – it was bright red like my Blood-Roseconcoction, but had it been that he would have become sickly and died – novampire or human could survive the accumulation of mercury in their bloodstream. Stupid men used quicksilver as an elixir for stomach ills, but it didnot cure such ills – unless you count death as a cure. Mercury poisoning made ahuman cry out like a cat; they would lose muscular control and become a virtualvegetable – helpless but for the aide of others, in a vampire it was quick andlethal, but not it appeared in Tristan. I had to ask, there was no way to replaceout otherwise.

“Tristan, is your tattoo of Blood-Rose?” I asked hesitantly, running my fingers over thethin-legged bird.

“Aye…it is…what of it?”

“Where did you get it?”

“My mother made it – each of her children is tattooed assuch,” he replied.

My mind started reeling – that wasn’t possible. If they werehuman they should be deathly ill, if vampire dead…why did it not work on him? Iwas glad at that point in time that he was not dead, for he loved me soperfectly, but there was no logic in his existence…unless…could there be aresistance? Was it possible that some were actually resistant to the effects ofmercury?

“Is it magic?” I asked hesitantly, for that was the originalrumour that had allowed me to lure unsuspecting greedy vampires to their quicksilver deaths.

“Aye it is!”

How was that possible? It made no sense what so ever. It wasjust pigments and blood, ground together – there was little in it to be magical– what had I created? Was it even possible? Did magic truly exist? The curse ofmy ring had told me it did, but I preferred not to believe that it was so easyto access. I used only the natural chemicals in plants and minerals to treatnatural ills, but this was not that kind of elixir!

“You are a vampire – are you not?” I asked, knowing fullwell that he was, but had never told me.

“Aye – as are you.”

“Indeed.”

It made absolutely no sense, unless he was connected tosomeone who really did dabble in magic.

“May I ask of your parents, My Love?”

“You may…my mother is Morgan Le Fay and my father is MarcusMedici.”

I know I must have grown pale with his admission. ThisTristan was the son of Marcus, whose lover I had killed centuries ago…andMorgan Le Fay – well her name said it all really – Morgan the Faery! I was inway over my head and I knew it instantly. The next time Tristan left on business,I had to escape. I had to leave and go into hiding. That darkness that themaiden Guinevere had spoken of was about to tap me on the shoulder!

Was I doomed to be a hopeless romantic? A girl whoserelationships with men were too complicated to allow the true love she hoped toreplace. My experiences so far had been tormented to say the least and torturousat most. I was torn between the deep affection I honestly felt for this Tristanand the utter fear I felt knowing who his namesake had been. Had this all beena ploy of Marcus to redeem a punishment upon me for slaying his lover? Was Ionce again a puppet manipulated by the strings of a man who wielded dark magicagainst me? How could that be? How could I have fallen for a man who was soinappropriate?

Tristan’s hand slid up my naked hip.

“What tortures your mind so?” he asked.

“Do you love me?” I asked swallowing hard with the question.

“Indeed I do,” he answered and claimed my mouth with his.

As I returned his kiss, I wondered just how much he lovedme. Would he plead my case with his father, should he ever replace out my trueidentity? Did I have a hope to survive this affair?

“Jordan, you seem distracted, what troubles you so?”

I looked into his worried eyes and knew that I could nevertell him. I smiled.

“…that you tease me so and have not yet given me the sweetrelease of climax,” I winked.

“Well now, that I can accommodate,” he said and rolled mebeneath him as he spread my legs with his knees. He plunged deep within in meand although I knew that this was my Tristan, not the one from a life so longago that it barely mattered, my thoughts kept returning to that other Tristanand the way he manipulated and ensnared me. I felt my Tristan moving inside me,rubbing his hardened shaft against the soft tissue of my sex, but it was notenough – my mind was not on the task at hand and try as he might, with this methodhe would not make me orgasm.

His frustration grew as I moved no nearer to climax. Hewithdrew from me and moved his whole body down the bed. This time he stimulatedmy sex with his tongue. He licked long lavish strokes upon the folds of myswollen flesh and consumed the nub at the apex. His fingertips were delicatebut probing and his determination pushed through the barriers my mind hadcreated by my distracted thoughts. By body began to betray my mind as I moanedagainst his movements and pushed the mound of my eager flesh against hisfeverish tongue. Harder, faster and with greater friction he licked at mywrithing sex until as I ran my fingers through his blonde hair I cried outbeneath his touch and reached for handfuls of bedding, my hips lifting from thebed as I came hard against his mouth.

He lifted his mouth and smiled at me and the moved up mybody plunging his erection deep between my legs and impaling me on his shaft.He pumped within me hard and fast seeking his own sensory salvation. As hethrust I sank my fangs into his shoulder and the hot stream of his seedexploded within me, he shook above me and then sank his own fangs into my neck.I felt a moment of utter joy and then a terrible fear as my heart beat changedand started to beat in time with his. Something had just happened. Somethingdeep and mysterious and I knew instinctively that I was in a whole host oftrouble now.