hose that harness the power of the Lady can be divided in two: the strong right hand of her divine wrath, the proud and chivalrous knights, mostly male and raised from birth to knighthood and the left hand of guidance and her will, her female servants. Thus was the great divide decreed by her infinite wisdom and kept in order for hundreds of years: women hiding their inherent weaknesses to fight on the field of battle were rare and shunned for ages while there likewise never returned a male, born with the arcane fire, from the wide and perilous forests of Loren. The story of Josserand is unique in many ways which I’ll now narrate to you.

The birth of Josserand preluded a couple of years of happiness and joy in the family as he was heir to the name and realm of his father. So overwhelmed by the coming of this child they took every precaution to shield it from harm and sickness: never to be left alone without a nursing maid or bodyguard, his mother prepared  his meals with the outmost care and the serfs never even saw their young heir until late. To protect it from every little detail they broke several ancient customs like the showing of a new lord to his future loyal subjects, the first pledges of allegiances of his soon-to-be faithful household knights and his first exercises he had to endure alone without any sword buddies. It is easy to understand he became a silent, brooding youth, quite to himself and with near no sense of humour or emotions. Six years passed and the child knew none other than his loving mother, his strict but fair father who taught him the basics of swordplay and horseback ride and his nursing maid who was his first and only friend. A second mother to shield his young from danger.

The first manifestation was a fright to both parents: one of the hold’s cats had passed away but prowled the corridors of the keep back soon though not quite the same. The cat’s second life didn’t seem to last however as the young spark faded soon after. The parents and their retinue choose to not to think about their mistake and ignored the incident until two years later.  

Josserand, though silent and keeping his inner self for himself, could sometimes explode into a fit of rage at a sudden and unexpected problem. These outbursts were not that troubling and regarded as fitting for the strong and devoted heir he would become one day. One spring’s day however his talent became apparent even to his parents as he openly displayed his power. During a routine saddleback exercise a young mare suddenly and violently reared as he was stung by one of the horse flies. Its scare was so great it propelled the young Josserand from its saddle, hurling him luckily into a bale of hay. His normally emotionless expression turned into a furious snarl as his parents ran to his aid. Before they could reach the young boy, Josserand had already grasped the reins.  

“She needs to be punished: no proud warhorse of mine can be scared of something so small.”

He put his hand against her neck and his eyebrows focussed on his malignant attempt. The horse whinnied woefully against the dark energies flowing through its veins, protesting and trying to escape the cold touch. It could not however escape the cruel magic, weakening its body and it was forced to its knees. With eyes fraught with peril it then collapsed to the ground, fainting and losing its fight against the dark arcane. Only then the wrathful son released its grip from the poor horse, which lay in pain on the floor in a puddle of misery, breathing deeply and severely weakened. The parents had looked on in shock at this display: their precious son had powers of beyond and they were clearly evil. His mother was first to react and her hand connected sharply with his cheek.  

“You cannot ever use that... thing again, do you hear!”

“Son, it’s dangerous to show your affinity with that strong magic here. Heed your mother and obey,” his father said sternly, equally shocked but fighting to keep it under control.

Then an unspoken thought disturbed them and they went off to the keep, leaving a confused and scared child behind.Josserand obeyed his parents for the several months that would last in the keep of his family, intimidated by the violent reactions. The servants in the keep tried to avoid him, whispering to themselves only to stop as he passed. He could read the fear in their eyes which made him feel outcast and hurt. Josserand vowed never to use his ability again lest there be good reason too. He didn’t see his parents much those months as they were busy planning. Planning what? Josserand had no idea.

The first snow had set in and Josserand was seeing if he could hit the gargoyle on the tower with snowballs as the fast pace of hooves hitting cobbles warned him of a rapidly-approaching messenger. Indeed he had barely moved aside as an exasperated man of the retinue rushed by him, horse at the fastest of its abilities. His father came down the keep to meet the man but his worry was clear. Hushed conversation ensued and his father grew pale. A mournful glance towards Josserand and he sped inside. Ten minutes later his mother arrived, summoned a carriage which was then loaded with provisions and trunks. After she had overseered the loading, she hurried towards Josserand. Not telling him anything she just took his hand and dragged him with her into the carriage. From the window he witnessed as his parents said goodbye with one long kiss, saddened by the turn of events but both adamant in their resolve.

The road was long but their pace slow and progress even worse which seems to unnerve his mother even more. Quiet and worried, it was hard to lock her in conversation and any questions where they were headed or why they had left home, were met with heavy silence. Only once did Josserand receive any useful information: in due time. More often than not the accompanying household had to lodge one of the wheels loose which would have slipped due to the frozen road. It took several days of driving over the frozen plains of Bretonnia to reach their mysterious destination. All the while it amazed Josserand of how big the world outside his home was: sometimes it scared him, sometimes he wanted to explore even further. Most of the time they travelled over a road leading on and on to the horizon and beyond. They passed several small woods and in the distance Josserand once could see huge masses of land, lifted to the sky as giants. One night Josserand woke as the rhythmical waving and creaking of the chariot had stopped. As he looked outside, he barely could see by the moon’s light the edges of a river. His mother noticed his interest and shortly explained that these were shores of the Grismerie and soon they would arrive in the lands of Parravon. Parravon, that word almost seemed magical: lands of knights borne by steeds most noble, the pegasus. Though they travelled for a day through this land that excited him, he did not see a white speck on the sky. The winter cold kept them from travelling unneeded, explained his even more silent mother.

They started out as a small edge on the horizon yet with every hour they grew and grew until they seem to dominate the sky itself: the mountain range of  the Pale Sisters, border to the Empire and barely habitable. Soon the road lead them upwards into the looming mountains through a small pass which ended as a twisting and turning road at a side of one of those colossal giants. Josserand found himself afraid that soon they would reach the heaven and would get lost in the clouds. With every turn of the wheel the air seem to grow colder and penetrated his clothing with ease. Even several blankets of the finest fur barely seem to keep him warm.

Nightfall has started and Josserand prepared for yet another night inside the cold and moving carriage yet suddenly the cart stopped. His mother looked up from her daydream and ushered him out with a tired smile.

“We are finally here. Let’s hope all has been prepared for our coming.”

It seemed as much for the moment they set foot on the besnowed ground, several servants appeared from within a small wooden keep. Without a word they started unloading the carriage, illuminating each other with torches. The escort started to dismount and take care of their exhausted steeds. Josserand felt at a loss of what he should do now. His mother led him into the keep. Several parts seemed rotten yet other parts had obviously been restored recently. Inside the small hall preparations had started for a good and warm meal. A roaring fire was dancing inside the hearth, suggesting a warm welcome. Before long they ate a heartening meal alongside the three knights which had escorted them from their home. Few words were said as tiredness started taking its toll. One by one they left in order to head for bed. Josserand was alone with his mother who seemed content to fall asleep in a chair in front of the hearth.

“Mother, why are we here?”

No answer. Josserand decided to press on in hope to receive at least something: “Where are we?”

“The hunting lodge of your grandfather. I was born here in Parravon and been here many times. Sadly since the untimely death of my father it was neglected and nature reclaimed what’s hers... Aren’t you tired?”

“Not so much as I would ponder on these questions instead. When do we return?”

“It will take some time, my dear son. I’m not sure we’ll ever return.”

This answer shocked Josserand which his mother seemed to sense. She opened her eyes and with a brave smile she quickly added: “Don’t worry, he’ll visit us plenty when it’s safe. Now to bed.”

Safe? Josserand wondered until late during the night. What menaced the keep?  Would this be their home for eternity? A lot of questions but no answers until dark sleep overwhelmed his tired mind and body.

As Josserand soon discovered over the weeks there weren’t many who lived in this region. Safe for the ruin of an ancient grail temple, there wasn’t a building for miles. Once or twice a week the servants would head out to a nearby village to stock up on supplies. Weekly his mother would take him to pray in the ruined temple for forgiveness. Josserand didn’t understand why his mother asked for the Lady to look kindly on them in spite of their selfish decision every time. One of the knights, Sir Merith, kept a rigorous training on his body, even more heavy then at home. Months later Josserand became able to venture into the rugged lands and find his way back to the keep every time. The mountain life suited him: solitary and quiet, breathtaking views of the lands below and the fresh and cool air. On one of his walks he spotted a knight and his retinue riding up to the long winding road. As the banner caught wind he could clearly see his father’s coat of arms, reflected by the sun. He had never realised how he had missed his father till the moment tears streamed from his eyes and his father grabbed him with two arms on his horse. He also was pleased to see his son and heir. For a week he stayed and spent a lot of attention to the little one. But soon duty called him back to their homeland and the halls of the wooden keep seemed empty and silent once more. 

Years passed this way and Josserand had almost forgotten about his future fief and heritage.  Even his mother seemed to have adapted to be separated from her husband for months at an end. The frigid cold winters were endurable now that the body got used to them. Josserand developed a love for the rugged mountain range and its strong people. What appealed to him the most was the strong paradox as the summer revived the lively lands with bright and sharp colours while winters turned the mountains into a pale landscape of vast whiteness and barely any life at all.  

His fifteenth birthday came which announced his coming-of-age next year. Soon he was to be sent to on his errant, earning his renown and knighthood in battles or adventures. One midday, late in winter, his mother called him to her bedroom. She had been ill for a couple of weeks now: a cold that did not seem to pass as easily as it should be. It pained Josserand to see his mother as pale and weak as she was now but the obedient young man he was, he entered her chambers. The shutters had been drawn shut so his mother could rest. Underneath many layers of blankets and fur, he found his mother asleep. Granting her this strengthening sleep, he silently took a wooden chair and sat by her side. Her hand lay next to the bed as if discarded from the blankets. Clasping his old mother’s hand to put it to rest in the warm shelter of the blankets, Josserand had an idea: would he be able to help his mother? Remembering his promise to his parents and himself, he quickly tossed the thought back in the corner of his mind. Her hand though felt so cold and lifeless. Surely he had given life once, he could do it again. For an hour he struggled in his mind whether he should try to relief the pain his mother endured. Suddenly he sensed something in his subconscious: from the chest of his mother there came waves of cold and negative influence. The cold and weakening influence almost seem to have conquered her entire chest and seemed to be on the march to her heart. Josserand threw all restraint away and forced some of his warmth into her body through their clasped hands. The warm energies began to envelop the cold sickness, forcing it into one spot. Encircling it had been easy but it became increasingly harder to battle the corrupting influence: ever more energy he poured into the body of his mother and slowly the cold had to yield. Sweat poured from his brows as he finally conquered the last remaining sickness and purged it from her body. Panting heavily and exhausted beyond anything he had ever experienced before, he quickly fell into a deep sleep, his head resting on the bed. 

As he woke from his deep sleep his mother had been caressing his hair, running her strong, slim fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No, of course not. However this is not the time and place to rest.”

“I’d no idea you have been this exhausted or I’d called you tomorrow.”

“Doesn’t matter. How do you feel?”

“Better, actually more awake then these past days,” she added with a reassuringly smile and wake eyes. Then the smile disappeared and her look grew rueful.“My dear son, it seems like just yesterday when we left home for here and you have grown ever so much over these past years. It is time you know why we had no other choice.” She paused awhile, seemingly contemplating her next words carefully. “Do you remember that day your father and I reprimanded you for something that seemed natural to you? The incident with the horse?”

Josserand merely nodded as he did not welcome to remember that day. “You have a talent, awesome in power yet fearsome as well. My dear boy, it is called magic and some who wander this world seem to be able to use it for their purposes. It is completely natural yet only few are gifted as you. It required great concentration and responsibility for with great power comes great danger. Over these years you seemed reluctant to use it, this is good since it should never be more than a last solution. Using magic for vain purposes is a waste and a sin.  You see when a child, born Bretonnian, shows his affinity for the arcane, it is taken away by the Fay.”

The Fay? Josserand thought to himself. The fair folk in legends and myths to scare children into behaving? What have they to do with this? "Led by the fearsome Fay Enchantress they take this children deep into the enchanted forest. What happens there is a mystery for all safe the chosen and they don’t tell. We ran away from your fate a couple of months later.”

“If this is my fate, why?”

“Since the chosen of the Lady, introduced to her secrets and will, are only those of the female gender. Never had a man returned from the forest. I pray you forgive us but we couldn’t let that happen. Ever since that day your father and I had been planning for you and I to escape if she would come to claim you for Her.”

Something finally dawned on Josserand: “That’s why we pray for forgiveness each fortnight. These secluded keep far from life. All this secrecy.”

His mother merely nodded in reply.

“I can’t start to express my gratitude, mother, to you and father for the risks you took. I do not like the sound of those who disappear never to return and thank the Lady, no..., you for this.”

“Your father will arrive with all his household knights next year in order to fulfil your oath of the Errant. Then you will be beyond the grasp of Loren as the damsels hold no power of knights. Prepare for this day, for it will be the day we shall return home at last, my son.” They sat both in thoughts at each other side for a while until the stomach of Josserand protested.

 Three months passed and his mother made a full recovery thanks to the energy of Josserand. Soon he would be safe at last. Indeed, energised by the promise, he completed his training and mastery of sword and horse early. Josserand was standing as he saw one of the pickets on guard in the village storm up the road with all haste. An eerie feeling settled in his gut as he was remembered of the day ten years ago. Indeed the exhausted horse and man rode as fast as possible to the keep from whence his mother arrived.

Josserand sided with his mother as the picket related his story: “Milady, several mounted men are making their way here with great haste, bearing the grail heraldry and one riding a one-horned horse. They’ll arrive within an hour.”

The eyes of his mother filled with peril as she took in the news. “How do they know we reside here? Who has betrayed our whereabouts?”

One of the three loyal knights, Sir Merith, his trainer, stepped forward and confessed: “Milady, I hope my liege and you find forgiveness for this disloyal knight but the duty of a knight to the Lady, blessed her wisdom, presides over his love for his liege. You were wrong to hide the young one from his fate. Please don’t try to run, it’s useless: she’ll find him one way or the other.”

“Sir, leave this place you taint with your dishonoured presence. Gather your horse and things to never return. I hope the Lady forgives you for your treachery for we will not. You may find redemption for yourself as you realise the dagger you have plunged deep in your lord’s back,” his mother calmly but with great venom in her words told the knight, dismissing him instantly.

The eyes of the knight saddened as he turned and left in shame, never to return.  Meanwhile the mother turned to her son in danger: “Make haste now, my beloved. Make haste and gather supplies and your weapon. You know the paths leading through the mountains. Hide and never return here or home for they’ll keep watch on us now. Go!” 

The strength in her voice propelled him away as he stormed to his room to quickly gather his shield with no heraldry and battered longsword. His mind felt numb as he couldn’t inherit the true meaning of his flight. After he gathered what ample provisions he could, he also took a hunting bow and arrows and some gold pieces for the road. His mother was waiting at the deer track, her eyes not able to withstand the flood of tears.  

“Farewell, my son, I’ll pray every day the Lady looks kindly on you.”

“Dear mother, I shall return one day.”

A last embrace and then he sped away. After he reached a small overlooking hill, Josserand looked back just in time to see the woman with the ice cold eyes and her emotionless guardians arrive on the courtyard. Her mother seemed so small as she addressed the Fay Enchantress whose eyes grew with spite as the discussion furthered. His heart seemed to beat more slowly as he awaited her reaction. Finally –after what seemed as hours- she turned the awe-inspiring unicorn and rode down, her back revealing great anger. Josserand pushed on, never to look back, relieved that his mother was safe. 

The first weeks were hard as game in the mountains is scarce and hard to come by. Luckily he had a rudimentary knowledge of edible herbs in the local surroundings which sustained him enough. With the foresight of another hard winter in the mountains, Josserand moved lower and lower. Finally after weeks of travel he reached the foothills of the Pale Sisters. Realising he would be in danger on the road as he could be recognised: after not many wandered these lands, dressed in fine albeit torn clothes, with a lord’s sword and shield bearing no significant heraldry. He tried to stay out of villages where gossip may betray his whereabouts safe in emergencies for instance as when he had cut his own hand. Finally he sold his clothes for more rural peasant clothes which itched and smelled but where infinite more safer. 

For a year he felt at a loss at what to do now. He settled temporary in a small wood near a river and a village of several families where he could barter his game for milk, vegetables and bread. His civilised speech rose a few brows at first but didn’t alarm the villagers. There at the shore of the river he build a humble abode with trial and error. Winter came which tormented him more then usual as he barely managed to survive the barren cold in his makeshift shelter yet he was used to the mountainous winters which helped him endure. During spring he saw per chance a knight pass through the village and decided not to  push his luck. After all he once vowed to see more of his Bretonnia and now that he had no ties nor kin keeping him in one place, he was free to roam throughout Bretonnia.  

Years passed and he had wandered far and wide through much of Bretonnia: from the north coast until the Iranna Mountains, from the Western sea to the Pale Sisters. Using his cunning and skill he learned in the wild, he managed to see his parents twice near their fief. His mother had grown very old and grey during these years but was invigorated every time she saw her beloved son. His father told him he had adopted an orphan of a knight’s family as heir. Though this news stung, he realised that the total freedom he had been granted, would be hard to give up. His father had no choice however: either adopt or the fief and name would disappear from the Bretonnian chronicles. His control of his talent however was erratic and dangerous: he quickly discovered that emotions mostly set off his innate magical source and that he somehow knew how to channel it into manifestations. However his arcane was always limited to destructive and self-centred use.

 While exploring the Forest of Chalons one autumn morning, he by chance discovered a man who did not wish to be discovered. Deep in the wood, hidden from sight and danger, there lived a hermit of great age and wisdom. Though blind and weak on his feet, he managed day by day to survive to harsh surroundings of the forest and its evil denizens. One moment Josserand seemed lost in the dense trees of the forest and suddenly he crashed through the tree line into a small clearing, harbouring a small hovel made of clay and strong branches. Curiosity made him step forward and enter the small hovel. The moment he crossed the doorstep, a staff connected painfully with his chin, sending him flying outside. The follow-up was also deadly efficient as the end of the staff suddenly knocked out all air of his chest. Coughing Josserand rolled over the floor out of reach of the staff. Finally he could have a look at his assailant and noticed a bent-over old and greyed man, leaning on his staff.

“Hold on,” the old man said to himself aloud: “that cough be not animal but man. Not keen on that either but somewhere we got to be friendly.” Though his eyes were shut, he aimed them right at Josserand: “Come, sit, stranger. I’m sorry to welcome you like this but most would warn some-one before entering their abode unannounced. You were actually lucky I didn’t seem to find my sword.” The man’s mind wandered off as he scrambled into the hovel: “Where has that blasted thing gone this time? It still goes beyond me how and where I could lose a longsword here.”

While the voice trailed off in muttering and curses, Josserand sat upright, his jaw and chest protesting fiercely. He still had trouble breathing deeply and when he touched the painful place on his face, it seemed like a hundred daggers had been driven in point first. His lip was bleeding but that would be the least of his worries: would that old man have knocked some teeth loose? Josserand dropped his equipment to the ground and sat a moment in silence to regain his composure. That man is fast for his age, he thought to himself: time has spare his body apparently. I’d be lucky if I could lift a staff when I look that age. 

A victorious cry interrupted his thoughts: “Found it! It was lying between the straw. Which means I’ve slept on it again. Oh well.”

As the hermit stepped out of the hut, Josserand’s eyes grew wide in amazement when he saw the beautiful decorations. The blade of the sword had been engraved with a detailed tree with a woman and chalice beneath it, offering it to a knight standing in all grandeur on the other side. Meanwhile the hilt shone as it was brand new and was shaped as a golden fleur-de-lys. The man didn’t seem to notice that his visitor had been awestruck and planted the sword into the ground and sat down in front of the hovel.“There we are,” the hermit said to Josserand: “Now how are you? For I know I know my staff hit you twice, jaw and upper chest if not mistaken.”

“I’ll be fine though my jaw hurts like the seven hells.”

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” The old man honestly seem to wonder if he had: “Anyways, you should know better than sneak up some old man. So what brings you to this piece of the woods: fame?”

“Safety is more like it.”

“Safety? I can’t even remember,” the hermit interrupted and continued: “when I was last safe here. Always some goblin or goatman seem to think that’s it is nice here and come disturb me. Why would I be here if I didn’t want some peace and...”

“Are you a knight?”

“Oh Lady no, I’m too old to be chasing dragons and women, not necessarily in that order nor likeability.” The old man chuckled: “I met some dragons of women in my days, boy, and female dragons as well: you don’t want to disturb them when brooding. No, sir, no.”

“Why do you live in this dangerous area?”

“Like I said: peace and quiet. Also the Lady in all her wisdom thought she needed some-one to guard this place.”

“Guard? There is nothing here safe rocks, trees and evil.”

“You forgot water: there is a lake somewhere over there. Never seen it though: that was already past the time of my eyes.”

“You guard a lake in the middle of perilous forest?”

“Yes, I told you: I got tired sitting around a dusty shrine and the Lady guided me here through dreams. Seems that this lake is important to her somehow and she needed a guardian that can’t see trees in the woods. You staying for dinner?” 

In the end Josserand did just that, even for his demented way of speaking and wandering off the subject, the old man was likeable and didn’t judge him. Nor did he ask much questions, Josserand wondered later on, I guess he knew me to be an outcast. It’s been so long that Josserand had a companion to talk to so he stayed for awhile. The old man was wise beyond his years and had found peace in this hazardous but beautiful surroundings. His way of life humbled Josserand and he took after the lonesome guardian. Guided by his new lifestyle, he started experimenting with his magical abilities. Manipulating nature and its wildlife was hard and draining his energy fast every time. Slowly he learned how to heal open wounds, use the woods as obstacles and so on. If the hermit knight noticed his strange talent, he did not show any reaction to it.  

A week passed unnoticed and Josserand merely enjoyed his new stable life. One morning he woke early without any reason from his sleep. Something had forced him to awaken. Trying to rub his sleep from his eyes, he grabbed his sword and ventured outside, ignoring the deeply breathing guardian. Light had not yet broken through the treetops yet the sun broke the dark spell on the sky. Morning dew covered the grass and the wet morning smell dominated the clearing. It was eerie quiet as fog floated lazily through the trees. Josserand shuddered as the cool wind rushed by. It was odd by he felt like he wasn’t on the same world as he had gone to sleep in last night. The entire clearing had an unreal feeling to it, an etherealness which would fade if one tried to grasp it. I must still be dreaming, Josserand concluded: now I only have to wake up.

 As he waited outside the tent, he decided to explore the surroundings. After all, Josserand reassured himself: there was nothing that could hurt him here, right?  His feet guided him towards the shore of the lake. Mist curled upwards from the cool water and drifted over the surface. A sudden urge compelled him to look into the lake. What he saw, terrified Josserand immensely: where he could see the bottom of the shallow lake now lay in an intense depth. It mirrors the world to an astounding detail, Josserand told himself, more to calm himself down. As he studied the mirror image, he found here and there things that should not be reflected by the water. The more he looked at it, the more the image shifted to another world. Trees disappeared from the mirror while an otherworldly palace of divine beauty appeared. Disbelieving his eyes, Josserand lowered his left hand into the cool water. The icy touch paralysed his arm but after he broke through the glass layer of the water, he felt no pressure but instead warm air. Surprised he suddenly withdrew his hand only to not see it return to this world. Up to his wrist it had been severed cleanly. What scared him the most, was that it felt like it was still there, hidden but still attached to his arm. Indeed he could’ve sworn that he sporadically saw a ghostly hand flickering in the place where his trusty hand should be. Transfixed by the disappearance of his hand, he stumbled away from the shore. For a long time he just looked at his stump and it did not seem to sink in that his hand had left this world.

Rustling of leaves and branches across the lake, brought his attention back to this dreamworld. As time seemed to flow more and more slow, his nightmare from long ago appeared. First the pale white unicorn made its way to the shore, mounted on top in all her frigid beauty and stern gaze, was she who he had tried to avoid for so long. It seemed that she finally found him, here in this crazy ethereal world. It took Josserand all his courage to stand up and back away from the gateway lake and his fear embodied. However she paid absolutely no attention to him instead she dismounted quickly and walked determinately towards the lake, all the while dropping her garments one by one. By the shore she got rid of her last clothes, freeing her divine body in all her natural glory. Barely able to breathe, Josserand could only witness as the pale elf woman stepped into icy cold water. She did not mind though nor did she seem to be affected by the water. She waded into the middle of the lake until her body from waist down was submerged. Josserand was unable to understand what she was saying to the other side yet he had an aching feeling that he wasn’t supposed to be here. He was unable to take his eyes from the unreal being in the middle of the lake and his feet refused all service.

The ghostly apparitions appeared out of thin air, immediately slashing their bony paws against the bare back of the Fey Enchantress, rendering the flesh. A scream of pain and then a deadly retaliation with magic as bolts of light struck the cursed creatures which fled to a safe distance whoever circling her as a pack of mangy wolves. The elf however had been badly wounded and her powers drained her energies, weakened by the flesh wounds. Blood mixed itself with cold water as the Enchantress tried to stumble to a shore. Every time she fell over into the water, the creatures prowled closer trying to weaken her more by attacking her. 

She’s not going to make it, Josserand suddenly realised and this lifted the paralysis. Handling on instinct rather than common sense, he stepped forward from the tree line, sword in hand and heedless of the danger. The creatures noticed a new prey and swooped down to finish it off. A sword did not help anything against the ethereal creatures. Since mortal weapons didn’t seem to repel the spectres, Josserand had to resort to his talent. With great care and energy he created a barrier of shimmering light between him and the creatures. Upholding such  a wall drained his energy rather quickly and it did not take long before the wall began the shorten. The spectres closed in on him as a true pack of vultures, envying his life. The Enchantress meanwhile had made it out of the lake and immediately reinforced the wall with her own incredible powers. “Go fetch the knight! Make haste!” She commanded him with her powerful voice.

“But he won’t be able to do anything against...,” Josserand stammered in reply.

“Just go!” The Fey interrupted and shot him such a baleful look that his blood iced in his veins. His resistance gone, he sped to the hovel.  Indeed the knight lay fast asleep in his bunk, dreaming in a better world then the one Josserand resided in. The hermit had buried himself deep into the blankets. “Wake up, hermit, damn you!” Josserand tried to shove him awake. It took a while but then the blankets started moving and the knight rose.

Actually he didn’t look anything like the old man in this world: youth and energy flooded his eyes, his stance was strong and proud, his body invigorated and young. Most surprisingly his eyes were open and gazed at the young man. The old man had regained eyesight, thought Josserand in awe. “You here? Impossible. What happened to your hand?” The knight surprised him with clear and powerful voice: “She said that only her personal left hands could enter this world. Who are you that you walk the twilight world?”

“She’s in trouble, sir, down by the lake!” Josserand merely answered, scared of this avatar of a noble knight.

“She?” The knight answered with amazement. After a while it dawned on him who she would be. “Why does she never alert me when she is here? Why else would I be guarding this?” The hermit knight asked himself.

With determined steps he took his sword and ran to the lake, Josserand in short pursuit. However the young man couldn’t keep up the pace the old one kept. Panting heavily Josserand arrived just in time to see the true might of the knight. The sword shimmered in an eerie light of divine might as it slashed through the creatures who shrieked in pain. One by one the knight defeated the spectres as his blows disrupted their ethereal bodies and they faded as a candle in the wind. Mere minutes later silence and tranquillity returned to the glade.

Josserand noticed that both the knight as the Fey now intently stared at him. Threatened by their glances, he carefully backed up as a startled deer, ready to bolt by the first sudden move made by the two. They however seemed to content to stare at him as a flaw in a perfect world. Time seemed to flow more slowly as hours passed without a move or word from the three, statues rooted into place.

 It was the Fey Enchantress who broke awkward silence: “It is clearly that She favours you for some reason: her power runs through your blood, her light shines on you as a protective cloak and for some reason your presence in our fair lands never has been noticed. She allowed you to step between the two world, real and dream. The loss of your left hand signifies more than you think, mortal. Am I wrong to assume you are the full-grown boy I’ve chased from Lyonesse to Parravon all those years ago?”

Josserand merely nodded in reply, his tongue stuck in his parched throat.

“Baudoin, leave us.”

“Are you...,” The hermit started but was interrupted by a stern glance of the Enchantress: “Your wish is my command.”

The old knight disappeared in the tree line, headed for his home.  A couple of minutes passed and Josserand became once again aware of her slim and pale body, still wet from the eerie gateway lake, in all nature’s glory. She did seem to feel the cold however chose not to show it. Her eyes locked his yet her attitude seem to have changed towards him. Her eyes slowly made him drowsy and tired. The surroundings faded into oblivion, all what was, were those deep and cold eyes. Her voice seemed to be detached and floating in the void: “I do not know what path She has chosen you for. All I see now is that she destined you to a path most irregular. A male servant of the Lady, gifted by her divine wisdom, I would have laughed before this encounter. Know that you have ever walked her path from birth to this moment. The hunt is over, mortal, I pray to Her that She grants you success in the endeavour you will have to face some day. Your hand is the sacrifice you had to make to fully understand what it means to be the link of the Lady to this land. It lives now in Her realm and it partially shimmers here in the twilight world but your hand shall never appear in the real world again. It is your promise to Her to do Her biding and serve Her will as she expect of all of us. Your sisters might despise you yet they’ll aid you if need be. Train the talents she had granted you, mortal, you’ll need them sooner or later. Now to make sure you never ever forget this night and your destiny.”

Her soft hands slowly caressed his shoulders, exploring and venturing deeper and deeper. Her lips were cold to the touch but tasted sweet. Josserand closed his eyes and didn’t open them again until the next morning. 

His dreams were muddled and confusing: he couldn’t make sense of them. The one moment he’d been chasing a woman, the next he found himself facing  an evil so great he shrunk to nothingness. Hordes of horses flooded a field, scarring a lake of dreams. A woman’s voice spoke to him in a strange and ancient language but still Josserand understood her biding. He was instructed into the tasks of the left hand. He could see his hand in a mirror but as he looked at it, it changed form into a fleur-de-lys. An unknown, bearded man greeted him but his back was made of water lilies. Smoke on the water, fire in the heavens. Mountains burning against the night sky, reflected by a lake as a beautiful tapestry of a man and woman holding hands. There was more, so much more knowledge the Lady in all her divine wisdom passed unto him over his path and destiny.  

Josserand woke to find a midday sun greeting him, high in the heavens, warming his naked body. He felt drained but in a way that only honest hard work can tax the body. The lake and the world had returned to the normal world. The events of last night seemed like a nightmare and a dream all in one, so unreal he could not believe it happened in the first place. Was his flight finally over and turned into plight? Had the Lady really a higher destiny for him? The hermit and his hut had disappeared overnight, making it feel ever so more a dream. His gear still lay there travel-ready. The one thing he couldn’t find, was his trusty blade. Returning to the lake, he witnessed how the sun reflected on the water mirror, blinding his eyes. As a cloud passed by, Josserand found  the sword of the hermit lodged into the shore. Glad to know it hadn’t been a dream, he pulled it out the mud and sheathed it.