Page 4 of I Will Always Find You
As the Romani witch peered intently into the swirling tempest of brilliant light and vibrant colour, he was swept away on a mesmerizing vision quest, transported deep into the realm of the future. The vivid hues whirled around him, crackling with energy, as shapes began to form, revealing fragments of what was yet to come. Each flicker and flash painted a tapestry of possibilities, drawing him further into the enigmatic journey of the one he was destined to experience.
And when that future was shown to him, he saw the truth of Hecate’s dark prophecy. And he shuddered in horror.
Near tears, the Romani witch’s voice trembled as he struggled to hold back the wave of emotion threatening to crush him. “No, witch-goddess, that cannot be our fate!” he shouted, pulling free of the vision.
“If you destroy Pompeii in pursuit of immense death and destruction, you must consider that one life and one love are measured against thousands of lives and loves. The guilty exist, yes—and so do the innocent, though you cling to the belief there are none.
“Do you truly believe the Scales of Justice would balance? No, little witch, and as a consequence, my kin, The Fates, will forever separate your threads and cast you into the underworld to wander forever, a purposeless spirit. Aeneas will be lost to you. That is the price for revenge on this scale. Tell me, are you still willing to pay anything for my magic?”
The Romani witch found himself lost in thought. He could almost breathe in the sweet, enchanting scent of Aeneas’ vibrantred hair, which reminded him of warm honey, the memory of it so robust. He recalled the contrast of his beloved’s skin, rough in places like the bark of olive trees yet soft and inviting in others, an exquisite blend of strength and suppleness. When their bodies intertwined in erotic passion, it ignited a fire that always felt both tender and fierce.
Hecate watched intently in the bright light of Luna’s moon as the distraught Romani witch slowly rose from the ground, withdrawing his hands from the dark soil of Vesuvius. Some earth clung to his fingers, but the power of his spell, along with his hope for justice, like the dirt, gradually crumbled and fell away.
“While I must face my inevitable death with shame for not avenging my beloved,” the Romani witch declared with deep sadness, “I find solace in knowing we shall now meet in Paradise and be together, always.”
“Regretfully, my poor witch-boy, that is still not meant to be.”
Hecate’s voice held a cold, unyielding tone, devoid of any warmth or compassion, yet beneath the surface, a flicker of sorrow played at the edges of her heart as she delivered the crushing news. The moonlight caught the shadows on her high cheekbones, highlighting the conflict within her, even as her expression remained stoically indifferent. She was a goddess, not a monster, after all.
“The Wheel of Destiny works against you.”
BRITANNIA 4th Century
COASTAL DEVONSHIRE
TOWERINGred sandstone cliffs rose majestically above the shoreline surrounding the quaint coastal village in Devonshire. Dramatic sea views unfolded from the rugged crags and jagged outcrops that dotted the landscape, revealing a vast expanse of azure waters crashing rhythmically against the coarse, pebbled beach below. The interplay of bright sunlight and vibrant cliffs created a breathtaking panorama that captivated all the residents who took the time to gaze upon it.
After a long day of fishing, the hardworking, hungry, and thirsty men gathered at the heart of their village: Gian’s Tavern. The warm glow of flickering lanterns created an inviting ambiance, drawing in locals and travellers alike, though strangers were few and far between. Inside, the place buzzed with laughter and the clinking of mugs, a typical atmosphere.
At the center of it all stood Gian, the tavern’s owner. A tall, dark-haired, and robust man, he perpetually had a broad, welcoming smile upon his bearded face and a cheerfuldemeanour; he made it his mission to ensure that every patron felt at home in his tavern, greeting each guest with a hearty clap on the back and an enthusiastic cheer, whether he knew them or not.
With his gentle disposition and soft-spoken nature, eighteen-year-old Rufus stood by Gian’s side, helping him manage their establishment.
Orphaned as a youth, Rufus had found himself near the banks of a winding river, alone, frail, scarcely clothed, and on the brink of death when serendipity intervened and led Gian, a stranger to the Shires of Britannia, to discover him during his travels. The burly yet compassionate man took the red-headed boy under his wing. He provided his essential needs but also nurtured him with care and affection. Together, they formed a unique bond and created a makeshift family. In Gian’s eyes, Rufus was nothing less than his son.
Eventually, however, they grew tired of their nomadic lifestyle and sought a place to settle, at least for a while.
Two years prior, they stumbled upon this charming village while exploring the sun-drenched hills of Southern Britannia. The peaceful beauty of the coastal landscape, the warmth and kindness of the Devonshire locals, and the refreshing absence of Roman rule deepened their affection for the region. The decision to make the village their new home had been swift; to this day, neither of them had any plans to leave.
However, the enigmatic Wheel of Destiny often changed the course of events in ways one could hardly imagine, as it did for Rufus one stormy night.
On this tempestuous evening, a lone figure appeared in the peaceful village as thunder rumbled ominously above his head. He was a comely, dark-haired stranger, weary from incessant travel, an arduous journey that had begun three years earlier in a country much farther to the south across the Sea of the Britons.He had arrived in this foreign village seeking refuge from the relentless downpour that lashed the land.
His modest brown tunic, crafted from sturdy linen and reinforced with leather, bore the marks of someone accustomed to living in tune with nature, designed for the rigours of long journeys across rugged terrain and through thick, shadowy forests.
Despite its durability, the fabric clung heavily to his tan skin from the soaking it endured. His leather sandals, now waterlogged and weighed down, squelched softly with each strained step, for winds of uncanny strength continuously hammered him, trying to force him backward.
When the young man saw the welcoming glow of the tavern lights, he quickly made his way to the establishment and entered.
Several heads turned to see who had come in. The traveller, accustomed to unfriendliness in his travels and mistrust of others, whispered a protection spell. An invisible energy surrounded his body; it would repel any fist or blade that sought to harm him.
But the traveller should not have worried. All the eyes that fell upon him were accompanied by smiles and well wishes to enter further and remove his dripping cloak.
“Well, you are a sorry sight,” Gian laughed heartily. “By Gaia, get in here and take a seat by my fire, man. You, Tully, your large bottom has sat there long enough! Get up and give the poor traveller that seat. He needs warmth. And Rufus, get the man an ale on the house and some linens to dry himself with. My name is Gian, stranger, and welcome to my tavern.”
Taking no notice of Rufus, who busied himself fetching the ale, his head down the entire time, the traveller accepted the now vacated seat, thanking the affable, portly man for his kindness insurrendering it. As he settled in, the traveller turned his head to nod and silently expressed his gratitude to the tavern owner.
As Gian smiled back, his eyes became pools of darkness, a transformation no one else in the tavern seemed to notice. Suddenly, the traveller heard a voice speaking to him—inside his head!
