Conjunctions
The sundial’s shadow yawned across the courtyard, as two cats – one black, the other white, crescent markings upon their brows as unique as they were, sat under the tentative gaze of the burnished daystar. The felines breathing in the aromatic scent of the French country garden sighed in contentment as the little girl, the princess Serenity Antoinette skipped up the path to the huge homestead.
“Well Artemis, it looks as if Neo-Queen Serenity is pleased with the progress we are making here thus far,” Luna breathed, swatting a fly away with her tail and twitching her long whiskers.
“Yeah, and she is also reporting that the Fractious Realm rifts are beginning to contract and heal. We might be turning the tide on Morok, but he is still out there and the girls will be keeping us informed on his whereabouts. Kamis hope we don’t have to call for back up, but if so, we will be ready. We can stay a little longer here to keep an eye on her before we have to move a few years ahead when Sere will be a young woman. You know, a child’s memory may be fickle, but she should remember us when we next meet…”
“Oh I do hope so… Artemis,” Luna replied, looking into the vast royal blue of the sky overhead before placing her head upon her paws and closing her eyes for a little catnap.
Serenity remembered with fondness those delicious languid summer days as a girl growing up in the south of France. She loved everything about it: the vineyards, flowers, the birdlife and the forest, her new home. She loved the abundance of the ripening grapes, the stories told by the pickers delighting her. Serenity also enjoyed the meandering ensemble flowing from the house where the grand piano resided as Kaori and her uncle played so beautifully, the melodic refrain washing over the entire estate as if a symphony written and performed for her alone. She loved it so.
Smiling, another cherished memory surfaced; at the tender age of eight, she remembered how the beautiful long stemmed rose, as had others each year, appeared on her fluffed up pillow on those breathtaking mornings. The perfect rose soon joined others in a crystal vase embossed with enchanting motifs of a palace on the moon and beautiful ladies, handsome princes and a queen, having appeared as if out of nowhere on her vanity one day out of thin air.
She was dreaming. She blushed, jumping out of bed, disturbing the sleeping little black cat; Luna, herself a miracle who had appeared out of nowhere and could, talk. Yes, Luna was her magical friend and as nobody believed a cat could talk she knew this kitty was special, as were the white male cat, Artemis and his daughter, the grey kitten, Diana.
“Oh, and I am like your princess of the moon? But, how pray-tell can I be her, she lived 1000 years ago my little kitty-cat. Artemis, can you explain this to me?” Serenity asked, perplexed. She sat on the bed and folded her hands in her lap as the white tomcat began to tell her of the Guardian of Time, a lady called Princess Pluto who looked after some magical gates. When he had finished giving his account of her amazing powers, a sudden thought came to her, “Would this nice lady slow time down whilst I play with my friends or go for walks? Oh, Arty’ could she speed time up for me again while enduring those exhausting lessons from my governess?”
“Princess, we cannot ask that of Pluto, she must abide by rules as must Luna and I, and little Diana here,” he said, as the kitten mewed.
“We are only permitted to let you know that help will be there for you as soon we must return to the future. But if we hadn’t told you of your legacy, then things would have not turned out for the best. Let’s just say, we had to awaken you because somebody interrupted the natural flow of events along the corridor of time. I can’t say much more than that young Serenity,” Luna said, rubbing her head against the little princess in exile’s hand. Serenity as a little girl was something she had missed since the Silver Millennium and Luna would milk it for all she could.
“So, that is why you had to awaken me?” Serenity frowned, trying to puzzle it all out in her mind. The little they had told her was important, she could remember pictures that weren’t anchored in this world. A man, tall, handsome and kind, his name was Mamoru. He lived in a city that wasn’t even built yet.
Serenity gasped. Then there was the witch that tried to hurt them. After Sere had come out of her trance, Luna had said that the battle had been won. This taking place in the 30th century, a new era of peace had blossomed after a series of encounters with bad people who wanted to rule the whole world. Serenity was frightened and enthralled by these accounts. Then she looked to her vanity.
“Oh, Luna, Artemis: look!” Serenity stroked the blood-red petals of the rose and smiled as Diana sniffed at the bloom and promptly sneezed. “This is so pretty, isn’t it Artemis and Luna, do you need a kerchief Diana?”
“Thank you Sere, yes I would…” Diana said, as Serenity padded her nose with the kerchief smothered in butterfly motifs. Diana held it in her paw and continued to hold onto it in case she got the sneezies again. ”But where little flower did you come from?” she said as she breathed in the heady sweet scent, closing her eyes and once more inhaled the bounty of the deep red rose.
As the years glided by, she caught glimpses of him, sometimes she would dream of the boy with the shock of black hair, the eyes so deep and blue, Serenity was sure she would be caught in their timeless rip and she’d gladly drown in their depths if she could. Serenity, not used to feeling this way about a boy, any boy before, had watched him, as he would climb a tree on the perimeter of the property. He would see her and wave. She’d laugh and wave back and curtsey.
Serenity was amazed that he could see her from that distance and each day would look out the window and wait for him to appear and smile whenever he had. There he would be, perched on a branch high up, sometimes with an apple or something else in hand to pass the time while he waited for her to show. She would pluck one of the magic roses out of the vase, holding it against her chest and mouth, ‘thank you’ and he would beam and nod. She giggled, as she had known it was he, for the roses were a recurring theme as was a much older boy in those visions and dreams of the moon world, or kingdom as Luna had described it. He was the very same boy and she didn’t even know his name. Although she suspected it had once been Endymion, Serenity was curious to know and would find out no matter what it took and tell him her name as well. But she figured he’d be resourceful enough and already know it.
He gazed at her, the picture perfect girl, all of thirteen years of age. He was in love, and no, it was a deep love that he felt towards her and much too grand to describe as mere puppy love. She was his little flower. Whenever she stood on the balcony, or peeked out of her window when it was too cold to stand outside, she would smile from behind the cottage-styled windows to wave and send that smile he knew and loved so well. Endymion loved the pale blue and white sundress she wore that day. He adored her in whatever color garment she wore, from apricot to pink, mauve to lavender, and that hair of corn maiden gold and those eyes captivated him. She was pretty, a faery, a beautiful girl, cradling the deep red rose against her cheek. As she kissed its petals, he had never seen a more enchanting sight and gasped. This, her way of thanking him for each bloom he would send faithfully upon every birthday in June.
There it would be, on her pillow and though letters were impossible to exchange, they each felt that tug, that ancient connection and while it was hard to fathom and understand, both of them cherished the other fervently.
On her fourteenth birthday, she received another and again on Valentine’s Day. But who was her secret love? She smiled, and she knew the answer to that question and this day they would finally meet at last. She had signed up for a riding group, and since all the members were girls, it was perfect as the riding school had employed Endy, as the first note smuggled in for the young man, now seventeen had reached them through a maid servant by the name of Ilene.
The only thing that dampened her spirits was the fact her family would be visiting and her estranged relationship with her father would way down on her heart once again. She wondered if he would ever accept her. Despite all the sadness of separation from her mother and siblings living in the royal palace in Paris, her father still refused to acknowledge her, neither had he written nor would he show up. It never came as any surprise that whenever mother and her brothers and sister came to see her, he hadn’t accompanied them, ever.
Buoyed by the mysterious blooms bestowed upon her during her girlhood, Serenity filled the empty spaces left by her staunch father’s estrangement with these stunning roses. These never waned or died nor would the love for this mysterious boy she had known and fallen in love with in a previous life and was falling in love with all over again. Serenity sensed that in this new future, they would meet again. But most wondrous of all was the fact that from the first to the last, each bloom was as fresh as the dew-splashed morning she started receiving them.
They had become much closer over the last few months, then the bottom dropped out of her world. This would be the last she would see of him for only heaven knew how long. She had cried herself to sleep after he had told her the news. Endy had been offered a scholarship that would take him to Paris and away from her. She put on a brave face as did he and said her heartfelt good-bye.
“Oh Endy, it has only been a few months we have been able to ride together and get to know each other properly. Sorry, I know I am being a little selfish, but I will miss you terribly. I am genuinely happy for you, but I am sad we’re being pulled apart by circumstance albeit for good reason.”
“Hey Sere, it is only going to be a short period of three years and I will be back in the summer, so try and keep your chin up and when you’re able to receive my letters on your sixteenth birthday that will make it easier for us both. I will write often. I promise.”
“I am glad of that, Endy. But I will miss our walks, the riding and your company. One last thing I want to do before you go…” She flung her arms about his neck and on tiptoes, kissed him on the lips. He pulled her to him and almost squeezed the life out of her, but she didn't care. The kiss, though innocent, almost became something else as their lips parted and they had to break off the fiery kiss as Andrew, Endy’s best friend who had also been invited to Paris shouted that lunch was ready. Afterwards, Endy would be boarding the coach that would take him out of her life.
“I’ll be back, remember that. You can count on that.”
“I know. Now, come on…Andy, we’re coming!”
Paris France
1793 (three years later)
The resplendent cathedral of Notre-Dame reared like an angry mare as if at any moment it would bring down its hooves upon the maiden of Paris and crush her, but what now.
The sounds of the tolling bells marked the timbre of unrest that cradled this great land. France, a beautiful, fecund and elegant lady now lay prostrate upon the bloody altar of the revolution. Decapitated, defiled and her honor cast adrift. But yes, the French monarchy had brought this on themselves. But it was not for the children to suffer for it.
The winds wound there way around ancient buildings and captured the memories of celebration, of mourning and of war and peace, and through it all, the noble and turbulent city of Paris would see far more this bloody day than it would ever care to see again.
Endymion was a young nobleman, an artist of sorts, his ability to woo young women to the seductive ensemble of his music had a power all its own. Men wanted to be like him, and women to possess him. But he was a man self-possessed, a free spirit and a dreamer. He was not a man of war, far from it. He studied hard, was widely read and a member of the aristocracy. Though highly respected by many, no love was lost between himself and his peers. They thought him too sympathetic with the peasantry, a so-called man of the people who might show a weak face of the crown.
He would have none of it. Endymion would stare down his detractors. “If I be a sympathizer, then it is in the King’s name and for his welfare and our beautiful kingdom. Can we not afford to share a little of our bounty with the people, to make them proud, instill love for the crown as opposed to fuelling their resentment and scorn by our indifference and extravagance? Oh yes, my friends, the disrespect that I know very well. Gentlemen, look at us, in our fine attire, our heirs, our wealth and good fortune. We’re flaunting it, while babies die of the great consumption, while other illnesses steal away good men and women, and French children die in their sleep. Some never living long enough to utter a single word!” he took pause, sipped on his wine, and went on, “Oh, gentlemen I know only too well the jackal’s howls. Silent they may be to some, but we ignore the gathering packs to our peril! Can’t you feel it, Pierre, surely you feel it, the stones thrown at us as we move along the streets, the jeers and curses, its growing louder and more common place. It’s like a beast that slithers down the streets of Paris at night, finding is subversive way into taverns and the homes of the poor and feeding the rising discontent and finding fodder for armies led by men and women determined to bring us all down... I am not a fool; I can recognize the signs. Can you not see the portents?”
“Surely Endymion you exaggerate,” Daniel Paul guffawed.
“Do I? I only wish my friend it were true,” he sighed, “I can tell you this much though, that when the watershed bursts its banks, I think it would be prudent to be far from Paris that day, better yet Spain or Italy, anywhere but Paris!”
“Endymion, you are worrying too much. We know the unrest is rising, but to abandon Paris. I will take a summer retreat to my lands in the south-west, as I am sure most of us will until things settle here in the capital. But not out of fear, but as a dose of old-fashioned common sense. I don’t like what is happening either and I agree we need to do more. But we must not panic.” Endymion’s best friend, Andrew Forte said.
“Andrew, you are the wisest among our company, I hope gentlemen you at least consider a brief journey to your estates, at least until the unrest settles and the crown can find a more long-lasting solution to our economic and social woes.”
Few friends stood by him after his uncharacteristic passionate address to the members of the society, but he didn’t care. He was a man of principle, a good man with gifts and abilities of which some knew and appreciated while others remained a well-guarded secret. Andrew and a handful of sensible men had followed his advice while many others in attendance that day had been claimed by the angry mobs and executed. Casting their magical songs and oral tributes to the four winds, the musicians, bards and entertainers had long since fled the troubled capital. As the revolution gathered momentum, the exodus grew in size and desperation as roads were filled with refugees seeking a way out of this waking nightmare. As the tempest continued to descend on the city of artisans and poets, the sounds of bloody revolution ruled the day: the screams and crying, cheers and the dispassionate blade of the guillotine continued their ghastly refrain. All day long, it chilled the hearts of its citizens whom, if not a part of the blood fever, were huddled within their dwellings surreptitiously peeking out from behind the safety of their curtains or through keyholes upon the hapless souls being led in a somber and silent procession to the slaughter. Most of the victims were people they knew: friends, business associates and leading community figures all condemned and dying because of what they knew, whom they knew and perhaps who they were. But the house dwellers couldn’t do anything to save them lest they put their own lives at risk.
As a boy, Endymion would see visions, experience prophetic dreams and demonstrate powers only imagined by ordinary people. He would see the lavish palace on a majestic plane and a huge dome of clear crystal over its girth with stars in aquamarine skies cradled within the shimmering shell, where botanic gardens, the long paths and beautiful sea washed against the docks. He could see people dressed in unusual clothing who went about their work and play in a cordial and respectful manner.
Then he saw the fall of this beautiful place. Ships of the air, frightening obsidian looking vessels descended upon this fairy-land, and the angelic crystal ships that met them fought battles greater than those he’d ever read about in his history books. Creatures would rush at the Lunarian city, people screaming to get away. Blood running the streets and others, lucky to get away leaving behind all they’d ever known and loved. Then, the soldiers of darkness, four in particular, powerful men with powers unlike nothing he had ever seen save those he himself was only beginning to understand made themselves known. But these Generals were fighting on the side of darkness. He felt a great sadness grip his heart as he watched them. Endymion, disembodied, cried out as they took their prey and did the most terrible things to the innocent. It was all too much. He would wake in a sweat, trying to forget the death and destruction of this beautiful place. It was a kingdom far removed from the lands of his birth, the spires and crystal towers, the buttresses and elegant halls so surreal and magnificent. He felt an affinity with this place. It haunted him long after waking. Yes, he had this dream on many occasions. But try as he might, he couldn’t fathom its meaning. The beautiful queen and her lady warriors and the little girl and her feline guardians that could transform into people with cat ears and tales were incredible to say the least. But amid all the death and grace, the grandeur and the series of unforgettable images, one stood out above them all, the princess Serenity. He did wonder that day if the fall of the gleaming moon city and her planetary realm was to repeat itself in Paris and all of France.
After moving to The Rouge Valley Estate, Each rambling homestead and its grounds straddling a gentle rise nestled within a glade encircled by hills adorned with forest and fields of flowers, it was to Endymion as if the scene were taken out of a Grimm's Faery tale and placed here. One day, while walking with his benefactor, Lady Margareta Rivera, young Endymion had seen the little girl on the veranda of the massive homestead abutting their own and in an instant recognized her, she was the girl from his dreams. Once he had laid eyes on the fair maiden, his heart was hers. He vowed to write her.
“Child, it is rude to stare. But yes, she is a pretty little girl.” His aunt smiled and ruffled his hair.
“Yes my aunt, she is the loveliest flower of this valley!” he responded, mesmerized by the blonde girl swinging her legs and humming, eyes closed on a loveseat on the shaded veranda, flanked by a white cat and a black with a little grey kitten in her lap she was petting.
“Oh Endy, you’re going to make the girls swoon and cry over you when older, I know it. You look so like your uncle Verne.”
He had indeed written to her, but all his letters were intercepted and sent back unopened. So, as he had abilities he could not explain, a kind of magic he was born with allowing him to command the elements, he sent her roses, his magical roses that never faded away. He would imagine her, the golden haired little girl asleep in her bed, his heart, the angel of his dreams, and will the blooms to materialize upon her pillow beside her adorable face, her lashes golden and so gentle, her pink lips and the smile that perpetually graced her sweet mouth and the pool of endless gold. Oh how he wished he were the white cat curled up against her stomach beside the little black cat, the kitten in a basket on the floor beside the bed as she slept. He smiled. He loved her, even back then as a boy.
Not long after he’d delivered his last gift of the red long stemmed rose, a strange, but faery-like girl in a short shift and a silk sash of purple tied at the waste with dark collar-length hair stood before him smiling. She had the strangest weapon in her hand. The female warrior seemed almost too small in build to hold it upright, let alone wield it, but looks were deceiving. A sword, or was it a sickle? He frowned, but it was unlike any instrument of the harvest he’d ever seen. She told him it was a glaive. She told him the gleaming instrument was a talisman, a weapon that could destroy not only Paris, France or the great continent, but also the world. He didn’t doubt her, the glaive was transparent and it was fashioned from an indigo crystal of some kind. It was beautiful in its simplicity, but its power reverberated off the walls, fixtures and the house as she knelt beside him as he continued to sketch the landscape below with a piece of charcoal.
“Endymion, you make roses bloom and they are different to those in those found in the gardens anywhere on Earth, or any other far off world in fact! You are the guardian of the Moon Princess, and you must do all you can to protect her.”
“I will defend her with my life. Please, tell me what I must do.”
“Endymion, there will be helpers who will guide you. But these will find you when the time is right. I shall also be there to help you whenever you need me. Fear not, your destiny is grand, but it is also dangerous. I will speak with you again, Endy, may I address you that way?”
“You already have. What is your name?”
“I am the Lady of Saturn. For now, that is all you need to know. Live well and in your youth we shall meet again!” and that was it. The last he saw of her, until yesterday.
