“Morgan, if you’re asking me to watch a play, you must know, plays are not my thing. I’m more the adrenaline-rush car-chase-movie kind of guy.”
“You also told me you preferred showers to baths. I’m hoping what you are about to see will change your mind. Come sit beside me. This one is very special. In ancient times, Trolls did not keep a written history. They were a nomadic race and felt their records could easily be stolen or lost. Instead, they handed down their history in the form of plays. This one recreates the cause of the rift between Wizards and Trolls. It is always preformed at the annual Freedom Celebration.” Something in Rowan’s expression gave away his unease. She put her hand on his arm. “Do not give me that look. Just watch and learn.”
She knew bringing him here was a risk. It was a good sign that he and Renegade had spent so much time together without trying to kill each other. She hoped bringing Rowan to the celebrations would also prove positive. Many might not like that he was here, but it was a risk worth taking if what he learned today helped him shift into more tolerance and awareness.
Cymbals clashed, bringing a hush over the crowd. When it was quiet, a young man and woman burst onto the stage through a wall of paper flowers. The man was dressed in tanbreeches, a white linen shirt and a green vest, mirroring the gypsy style of the clothing worn by the crowd. In contrast, the woman wore a formfitting ankle-length black gown, decorated with crescent moons and silver stars. The gown resembled those worn by female mage Wizards during the Middle Ages. The woman cradled an infant baby doll wrapped in a blanket. The couple, their expressions shadowed by fear, wove around the trees on the stage, pausing only long enough to glance over their shoulders.
Morgan rose to her knees to make sure she could see more clearly. She knew the tale of these star-crossed lovers by heart, but each time she witnessed the story, her understanding of the power of love grew. Originally the play was not scheduled until tomorrow night. Morgan had asked Cassandra to have it performed today, before Rowan left, hoping he would reexamine more of his preconceived notions concerning the magical community and his place in it.
Another cymbal crashed over the crowd and silenced the last remnants of conversation.
A third actor appeared on the stage. The newest character was bare-chested and wore dark trousers. Black tattoos of flames and Celtic swirls decorated his shoulders and right arm, marking him as a Fire Wizard. He wielded a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. The tattooed warrior shouted for the couple to halt and for the Troll to lay down his weapons. Then came the demand for the woman and child to return with him.
The woman turned slowly toward the Fire Wizard. Her chin raised, she pulled the child closer and entwined her fingers in her lover’s hand. Her wordless response was a powerful rebuke.
The Fire Wizard roared out his frustration and anger and lunged forward.
In a lightning-quick move, the male Troll drew his blade, pulled the woman behind him, and blocked the attack. TheTroll was protecting the woman he loved, no matter the odds, no matter the cost. Morgan stole a glance in Rowan’s direction. Like all those in the crowd, he was straining to see the drama unfolding on stage, pulled into the primal struggle as old as time.
The actors’ swords clashed. Their weapons might be made from wood, but the intensity of the fight and the determination in their expressions vibrated through the hushed onlookers as though they were witness to a real battle.
The Fire Wizard drove the Troll backward toward the end of the stage made to resemble a cliff.
A collective gasp escaped from the crowd.
The death blow was only moments away.
The Fire Wizard’s sword swung in a wide arc over his head, its song slicing through the air in a deadly melody. When the sword made its descent, the woman jumped in front of her lover and into its path.
An expression of horror gripped the Fire Wizard on stage as he realized too late what he had done.
Clutching streamers of red ribbon in one hand and her child in the other, the woman collapsed to the ground, her breathing labored.
Enraged and fueled by the need to save his family, the Troll lunged toward the Fire Wizard. Their combined war cries tore through the crowd and their battle increased in tempo and intensity as both raced toward their destiny. Neither gave ground. Both believed they were on the side of right. Blood red ribbons streamed from their weapons, marking the wounds each sustained.
The injured woman, using the last precious reserves of her strength, raised her arm, transferring her remaining strength to her lover. He shouted a protest for her to take it back, not to give her life for his, but it was too late. The power had been transferred. In a burst of speed, gained from his one true loveand born from the depths of his despair and loss, the Troll struck the fatal blow to the Fire Wizard’s heart.
As the Troll stood over the dead Wizard, wavering on his feet, the weight of the wounds to both his heart and his body taking its toll, the victory was bittersweet. He stumbled toward the woman and child, letting the sword drop from his hand and clatter to the ground.
As he knelt beside her, she reached up to place a trembling hand on his face. Her words echoed his.“I will always love you.”
They bent toward each other and kissed with the tenderness of a final goodbye. Their words lingered like echoes as they died in each other’s arms.
Silence, whisper-soft and reverent, suspended over the crowd. Time suspended in the air, the fragments of the lovers’ last words on everyone’s lips.
Rowan cleared his throat. His voice was low as he cleared his throat again. “What about the baby?”
Tears pooled in her eyes and blurred her vision. That Rowan worried about the baby warmed her heart. The man surprised her at every turn. She brushed a tear away as she nodded toward the stage. “There is more,” she whispered.
His reaction was more than she could have ever hoped for. His first instinct was not to the perceived injustice of a female Wizard choosing a Troll for her mate, but the safety of their child. Her heart filled with a new kind of warmth she’d never thought possible.
A small version of a gypsy wagon was making its way slowly across the stage. An old woman, bent with age and dressed in layers of bright clothes, gold bangles jingling from her wrists, walked beside it. She paused for only a moment next to the fallen Wizard and gave him a silent blessing. Turning to the lovers, she covered them with a single cloth of silk embroidered with images that captured the spirit of a spring rainbow. Withthe crowd holding their breath in watchful anticipation, the old woman gathered the infant in her arms and disappeared inside the wagon.
Silence hung once more over the crowd before they stood and erupted into applause. One by one, both young and old stood to give honor to the performance. All smiled through their tears, clapping and yelling out their praise.
Rowan was on his feet. “What happened to the child? Is the story true?”
“What does your heart tell you?”
