a story that I find hard to believe myself, and you concoct this... this... elaborate hoax to send me back to my kennel?”
Alexander sprang from his chair, pinned Warren to his seat with a firm hand to his chest, and exploded. “Do you think it’s fun being a bloody swan? Sitting, paddling, and flying all day, every day. Constantly on alert in case a fox takes my neck.” He leaned in and shifted so his arms were on the back of the seat, either side of Warren’s head. “Me—a man—cursed, trapped inside a bird’s body, eating nothing but pondweed, stonewort, and slimy tadpoles. I can’t have a relationship. I can’t get a job. I can’t have a
life
because, for seven months of the year, I’ve got a fucking beak.”
Warren and Alexander stayed like statues, one looming over the other, locked on each other’s eyes, breathing deeply in the charged atmosphere.
With his heart pounding, Warren whispered a sincere, “I’m sorry.”
The vehemence behind Alexander’s words almost made Warren put his hands in the air and shout, “I believe.” But he had issues with it. His heart believed, and he was sorry Alex was in such a predicament, but the logical side of him told him such things weren’t possible. A host of questions flooded his mind. It was all well and good having Alex in his house saying he was Salem, the swan, but what did that have to do with him, other than the dreams and the bird breaking up the joust? Would any animal entering the area have broken up the joust? Or was it Salem in particular?
Answers to those questions wouldn’t give Warren an explanation as to why he’d been transported into a past reality. The favour from the joust was evidence the event happened. And what did the person in the grave have to do with it? Was there a reason why the young man was at the joust?
Then there were the eyes. Dreaming of both Alex and the man from the grave suggested the two were related in some way—if in no other manner than Warren being a conduit between them. Was the curse that affected Alex linked to the man in the grave? Who inflicted it, and how could one break it? Did it mean Warren had some kind of leading part to play in this whole mystery—a task to accomplish?
Those last few questions worried Warren because they meant he was starting to believe and was looking for more than a plausible explanation.
Carl’s local timbre broke into Warren’s internal musings. “No wonder yum pissed off most of the time, then,” Carl interjected. “Why seven months, though? Sorry to put it this way, but why not permanent and be done with it?”
Alex slowly returned to his seat. His brother’s arm slid around his shoulder in a clear indication of how shaken the young man was; how in need of his brother’s comfort. James spoke for them. “We don’t know for sure, why seven months. But we are grateful it’s not year-round. At least I get my brother for part of the year. We suspect the timing is a way to torture him further. This way makes it virtually impossible for him to form a lifetime bond with swan or human.”
Alex stiffened, and James soothed him with a rub of his arm. “We’ve heard the gossip about Salem, the evil bird, and people’s relief when they say he’s only around for the breeding season. Maybe if he was around more than that, people would start asking questions? As it is they don’t notice the lack of a breeding pair—they’re just relieved he’s not there anymore.”
He took a breath and continued. “There’s no set date for the transformation. What we do know is that for the last twelve years, before spring, Alex transforms into a swan and stays that way until at least the end of summer. It is one of the reasons for the delay in our gathering. After our meeting at the manor, I had to wait for Alex to become human before I could bring him here.”
All the time James was sharing his thoughts, Warren was unable to rip his eyes away from the blue ones that haunted his
Alexander sprang from his chair, pinned Warren to his seat with a firm hand to his chest, and exploded. “Do you think it’s fun being a bloody swan? Sitting, paddling, and flying all day, every day. Constantly on alert in case a fox takes my neck.” He leaned in and shifted so his arms were on the back of the seat, either side of Warren’s head. “Me—a man—cursed, trapped inside a bird’s body, eating nothing but pondweed, stonewort, and slimy tadpoles. I can’t have a relationship. I can’t get a job. I can’t have a
life
because, for seven months of the year, I’ve got a fucking beak.”
Warren and Alexander stayed like statues, one looming over the other, locked on each other’s eyes, breathing deeply in the charged atmosphere.
With his heart pounding, Warren whispered a sincere, “I’m sorry.”
The vehemence behind Alexander’s words almost made Warren put his hands in the air and shout, “I believe.” But he had issues with it. His heart believed, and he was sorry Alex was in such a predicament, but the logical side of him told him such things weren’t possible. A host of questions flooded his mind. It was all well and good having Alex in his house saying he was Salem, the swan, but what did that have to do with him, other than the dreams and the bird breaking up the joust? Would any animal entering the area have broken up the joust? Or was it Salem in particular?
Answers to those questions wouldn’t give Warren an explanation as to why he’d been transported into a past reality. The favour from the joust was evidence the event happened. And what did the person in the grave have to do with it? Was there a reason why the young man was at the joust?
Then there were the eyes. Dreaming of both Alex and the man from the grave suggested the two were related in some way—if in no other manner than Warren being a conduit between them. Was the curse that affected Alex linked to the man in the grave? Who inflicted it, and how could one break it? Did it mean Warren had some kind of leading part to play in this whole mystery—a task to accomplish?
Those last few questions worried Warren because they meant he was starting to believe and was looking for more than a plausible explanation.
Carl’s local timbre broke into Warren’s internal musings. “No wonder yum pissed off most of the time, then,” Carl interjected. “Why seven months, though? Sorry to put it this way, but why not permanent and be done with it?”
Alex slowly returned to his seat. His brother’s arm slid around his shoulder in a clear indication of how shaken the young man was; how in need of his brother’s comfort. James spoke for them. “We don’t know for sure, why seven months. But we are grateful it’s not year-round. At least I get my brother for part of the year. We suspect the timing is a way to torture him further. This way makes it virtually impossible for him to form a lifetime bond with swan or human.”
Alex stiffened, and James soothed him with a rub of his arm. “We’ve heard the gossip about Salem, the evil bird, and people’s relief when they say he’s only around for the breeding season. Maybe if he was around more than that, people would start asking questions? As it is they don’t notice the lack of a breeding pair—they’re just relieved he’s not there anymore.”
He took a breath and continued. “There’s no set date for the transformation. What we do know is that for the last twelve years, before spring, Alex transforms into a swan and stays that way until at least the end of summer. It is one of the reasons for the delay in our gathering. After our meeting at the manor, I had to wait for Alex to become human before I could bring him here.”
All the time James was sharing his thoughts, Warren was unable to rip his eyes away from the blue ones that haunted his
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