Two figures approached from the blurry past, slipped soundlessly through the hedge that marked the inn’s boundaries, and walked by trees that no longer existed, their ancient echo rooted once more within the nineteenth century earth.
Alwin was tall and ruggedly handsome, his eyes and shoulder-length hair dark-brown like Barnaby’s, his beard almost black and just as long as his mane. His tunic, bound by a leather belt and iron buckle, reached his thighs. He stared at the small gathering with an intensity that would make a woman swoon and would brook no argument from a man. All in all, Alwin seemed built for leadership rather than the sedentary life of a scribe. Certainly, Moira gazed upon him in silent admiration, her fear quite vanished.
Lyra, too, matched the images in the book to perfection. Her lithe body wore her long, silver hair like a cape, falling down her back to her waist. Her eyes were mists of blue and green with small specks of brown as though freckled. She smiled at Moira, a look that could melt the stoutest heart.
“Welcome, daughter of my children,” she said, her voice a song upon the ear. “Did you bring your true love to meet us?”
Moira just stared, her mouth open.
Barnaby fought to produce any sensible sound from his throat. But it was Joy who said firmly, “No, that would be us.”
“Who are you talking to?” asked Lord Brathwaite.
“They’re beautiful,” breathed Moira, not taking her eyes from the two figures who glowed with the magic that bound them to this place.
“Can you not see them, milord?” asked Joy. “They’re right here, in front of us.”
“He cannot see us, daughter of Fenwick,” said Alwin. “Only our blood and those bound to them with the bonds of true love can do so.”
His speech was gentle and soft, so opposite to his imposing presence that Barnaby at last relaxed enough to formulate intelligent sound. “I am Barnaby Ash,” he said. “It is a privilege to meet you.”
Lyra turned her radiant smile to Alwin. “After all these years, your solemn speech remains in them, Beloved.”
Barnaby blushed. He could feel the heat in his cheeks. “We have come to complete the gift you would give to the villagers and any who visit here.”
Alwin nodded. “You have read our story then.”
Barnaby gestured at Moira. “We both have.”
As he spoke, the weight at the backs of Moira and Barnaby took visible form. A pair of gossamer wings, identical to Lyra’s, silvery and faint like a vision, hung from their shoulders almost to the ground.
“You speak true,” said Lyra. “You are, indeed, our descendants. And this…” She turned to Joy. “Is your beloved.” Lyra considered Joy and Barnaby with some care. “Yes.” She touched Alwin’s arm. “It is there. Without a doubt. You can see it too?”
“Indeed,” answered Alwin. “It is unmistakable.”
“It has come full circle, at last,” Lyra said with a contented sigh. “Here, in this tiny corner of the universe, a love fit to shift the earth on its axis.”
“What is happening?” the earl demanded.
“Shh,” said Moira, without thinking, her eyes transfixed on the scene.
“I beg your…” Lord Brathwaite began, swelling with indignation.
Lyra reached out a slender arm and touched a finger to his lips. The earl’s speech halted. He lifted his hand to his mouth as if savoring a taste.
“Come,” said Lyra to Barnaby. “Drink of the waters of Fenwick so that the blessing upon it may be complete. Then all those who follow, partaking of its soothing sustenance, and wishing for a love that is true and strong, will receive the Blessing of Forevers.”
“The Blessing of Forevers,” murmured Moira. She walked up to the well, turning its handle, slow and steady, her eyes ever upon the fae and her eternal human groom. Up, up, came the wooden bucket, water sloshing gently in its belly. When the rope had wound to its shortest length, Moira unhooked the bucket and offered its contents to Barnaby.
“You were right,” she said. “I did not understand. But now I do. Take this. And you too, miss, and let there be love, true and sweet, for all those who would claim it.”
Barnaby drank deeply, for the water was cool upon this summer’s day. Joy only sipped a little, but it was enough.
Alwin and Lyra took each other’s hands. “Our time here is done,” said the fae. “We shall not meet again. But our memory will echo for countless generations to come, here in Fenwick, healing the hearts of lonely souls who partake of our blessing.”
With that, the couple faded from sight.
The heaviness at his back that Barnaby had grown used to, lifted from him. He could see Moira’s wings fading, their silvery light waning. She turned sadly as they disappeared completely. “Oh,” she said. “That is a pity. I shall miss them.”
