* Weeks pass * My host feeds me * A disturbing discovery * A fantastic tale

* An admission * An explanation * An illness * A religion * A plan

The next morning found me back at the doorway, full of renewed hopes, while the next evening found me dejected once again. This pattern continued for days, then the days turned into weeks. Cambel's company was pleasant and polite, and we found much to laugh about and much to share, but the fact of our imprisonment was never far from our thoughts.

His hands had healed at the end of the first week, and he told me how much he had enjoyed being attended to when I fed him and that he wished to return the favour. It seemed a strange request, but my curiosity and adventurousness took hold of me and I assented. That night, under his sweet encouragement, I consumed more food than I had ever before eaten. The tastes of the roasts and the puddings and the cakes and breads battered my senses and drove a hunger within me that I had never before experienced. The touch of his hands on my cheeks and my shoulders, of his sweet breath in my hair and in my ears, of his fingers brushing my lips and my tongue and my teeth was of such a power that I kept eating more and more that I might prolong the pleasure. When finally, after gorging for hours on rations that might have made the most destitute family fat, I reached the point where I could not partake of even one more morsel, he gently wiped my lips and then kissed my brow. At that instant, the sensation of his warm and moist lips on my skin turned my world inside out and I was consumed in passion, just as the meal had been consumed in my passion only moments before. I wanted nothing more than to take his lips against mine and swallow him up in my fire, to enrobe him in my abundant flesh, to engulf him in my soft body. But alas, I could not give voice to my desires and he was too proper to take advantage of me, despite my desire to be taken advantage of. So, I was escorted back to my rooms, where I once again abused my engorged self with pleasure, imagining that such sensations were being delivered by his caresses and his hands. Eventually, I ascended to the pinnacle of Nirvana before submitting to the call of unconsciousness.

It was near the end of December I made a disturbing discovery. While taking luncheon in Cambel's apartments, he excused himself for a moment and left the room. Although I knew he had finished eating, some of his meal remained on his plate, and I happily began finishing it for him. His appetite, once nearly the equal of mine, had faded as mine had increased, and, I remarked to myself between bites of suet pudding, he seemed to have lost some of his general vigour, becoming even more pale and wan. While waiting and eating, I had occasion to glance at the papers on his desk; the corner of one document caught my attention, as I could see that it was covered in my own penmanship. As I recalled leaving no letters in my host's possession, I lifted myself out of my chair and walked around the desk to inspect it more closely. The meal had been a heavy one, as had nearly every meal since I had entered into this captivity, and I could feel the strain of my paunch against the close material of my dress. I took a moment to marvel at the garment's construction and at the wondrous seamstress who managed to ensure that my wardrobe kept up with my expanding figure. Indeed, my two maids had only that morning informed me that I was now quite easily fourteen stone in weight, a revelation which was followed by a bathing that nearly left me mindless in its sensuality.

A smile on my face from that pleasant memory quickly faded to an expression of anger and horror as I read the note, forged in my hand, and addressed to my father. It was clear that this was only the latest in a series of letters, informing my father that I continued to be well, and that I continued in my explorations of America, accompanied by the generous Count Meta. It described my journey from Manhattan to Boston in a glamorous carriage, and my subsequent introductions to the best of Society in that New England city, then went on to describe my growing affections for the Count and my belief that, he, too, was becoming more and more fond of me. It concluded with an apology for the circumstances surrounding my departure, my regards to the Duke, and my expectation that I would return home soon.

What did this mean? I asked myself over and over again, hoping against hope that it did not indicate what I feared it would indicate: that the Count, himself, was my captor and my jailor. Was this his plan? I wondered. Did he hope to seduce me by caging me, yet leading me to believe that we were comrades in some heroic struggle, both endeavouring for freedom?

No sooner had I finished reading the letter than the Count returned to the room. I whirled around and threw the forged missive at him in accusation. "What is the meaning of this?" I demanded, my furious temper overwhelming all my good breeding and politeness. "Why have you kept me captive? Why have you lied to my father? What manner of person are you?"

His complexion became even more pallid as he realised what I had seen and what I thought it implied. His hands began to tremble and he was forced to seat himself in my vacant chair. "I am so sorry, Lady Maureen. I know what this must seem to you: that I am your captor; that I am the one who has imprisoned you and separated you from those who love you; that I must have some nefarious purpose in maintaining this charade. But, I assure you, by all that I hold sacred, things are not what they seem."

My hot anger was expressed in an icy voice which said, "Then, I suggest you explain yourself immediately, or that you set me free without another moment's hesitation."

"The explanation is long and complex," he replied, "as is our captivity, but I shall endeavour to make myself and my motives clear. Be first advised, however, that nothing I have done was for my own gain, nor have I done anything designed to injure the woman I hold most dear in all the worlds.

"My people." he continued, "are ill. The women of our land, once so fine and fat and proud, bearing broods of offspring enough to populate the world, have become pale and wasted and often cannot see their progeny to maturity. Babies are born one day, only to die the very next. Those who survive often do not live through the changes required to attain their majority, or, having reached that age, are found to be infertile, or infirm or otherwise incapable of producing any offspring. Our country, so isolated as it is, was founded with only four families, and these families have so intermingled and intermarried over the ages, that there are none of us with untainted blood, none of us with blood so strong as that of the younger races. In days past, when the passage between my country and yours was easier, our ignoble ancestors would often cross into your domains and abduct the infant and the innocent, bringing them back home for an infusion of new life into our world. But now, that journey has become so arduous and fraught with danger that none have travelled to your lands for decades.

"When I saw my mother lose three babies in as many years, I knew then that I must act, so I volunteered to be the one to make the journey. Although the passage is brief on the scale of time, the toll it takes on the soul and the spirit is fitting with a much more ambitious voyage. It was during my recuperation that I came across your monograph on 'Blood Disease in Closed Populations of N. caitlinus'. It was brilliant and bore so much resemblance to the plight of my own people that I decided to seek you out, that I might consult with you. I had hoped only to speak with you, to ask your advice, but upon seeing you for the first time, I was smitten beyond all hope of recovery. I had to leave, for I felt my ancestors within me, urging me to secret you away with no regard for your wants or wishes.

"Yet, the Elders of my land have ways of knowing beyond my abilities, and when I left you, I was driven here by my steed, against my will and trapped in this castle for a reason I could not understand. It was only when you arrived that I knew that we were brought here that you might prove worthy of the Changes."

"The Changes?" I asked, my anger cooling down in the face of his honesty and despair.

"An old name for the period of acclimation your people must go through, that you might better be able to withstand the rigours of the journey to our land. They seek also to test you, that they might discover your wit and your fitness for solving our dilemma."

"Your Elders, then, are fools," I said, "if they believe that an amateur such as I would be capable of the Science necessary to assist your people. And they are fools, too, if they believe that I should design to do anything for them when I am taken by force. And I still do not understand why you should have forged letters in my hand if you are but an innocent."

"That," he said, in a tone of remorse, "was purely my own doing, and I deeply regret my falsity with you. For having met your father, and having heard the way he spoke of you with such a depth of love, I knew that, without explanation, he should have searched the world over until he found you. I knew that had he read the letters you prepared for him, he should have raised an army and tilted at the gates of Hell itself, venturing all to ensure your safe return. Your father is a good man, of good heart and I did not wish to see him perish by your disappearance. It is enough that this misadventure will cause my own demise; the thought that it might claim more lives was too much to bear without action."

He had risen and walked over to the barred windows which looked out on the forest and the river nearly fifteen yards below. The sun behind him threw out a halo of golden light which seemed to turn his body translucent. I went over to him, all my anger diffused in the depth of his resignation. "Why do you say this will be your demise?" I asked him softly.

"My people are of the natural world. We live by the movement of the sun and the moon and the stars. We breathe of the Earth and the forest and the field. We gain Wisdom from the beasts and the insects and the flowers. Indoors, I am weakened, much as the straight-pin that has been charged by the lodestone slowly loses its magnetic attraction when it is separated from the source of its power. Each day I am forced to remain indoors, I feel myself becoming that much weaker. Surely, you must have noticed that I am becoming more drawn, that I tire more easily and retire ever earlier. I fear that if we do not find our way to freedom, I shall soon be lost..."

"But, these windows admit much sunshine, and when it is warm outside we may open the drapes and let the breezes through."

"That is not enough," he said. "It is not the same as having the sun bathe your entire body with its light, nor is it the same as feeling the gentle breath of the airs as they nuzzle even your most private parts. No, these glints of light and puffs of wind serve only to taunt me and to prolong my eventual demise."

"That demise will not be," I said, feeling such determination welling up in me as I had never before felt. "We will redouble our efforts to quit ourselves of this accursed place. I have heard of ciphers which are based on passages in books. Perhaps we need to seek the pattern in an underlined passage of one of the many volumes which line the hallway. That shall be our course, while, in the meantime, we shall move your quarters from this close and dim room to some brighter dormitory. Perhaps there are rooms above us which are nearer to the sky and more suitable to your constitution."

He allowed me to lead him by the hand, and, my anger with him forgotten, we ascended the staircase at the end of the hallway. The stone stairs were steep and musty, having been unused for many years. The dust on them was thick and the only footprints discernible were mine from an earlier reconnaissance which had turned up nothing of interest. Still, the previous time I had been looking for nothing in particular, and so I hoped that I had merely overlooked a more suitable room for an ailing man.

We opened room after room, finding nothing of use until we came to the last doorway. Upon pushing the door open, we both gasped at the vision presented us, for this room appeared to have been prepared for our arrival. Whereas the other chambers were in a state of faded neglect, this room was made up with the brightest fabrics and the warmest hues. The walls were festooned with clinging vines and, despite the season, flowers in full bloom adorned nearly every surface. The ceiling of the room, nearly six yards above, was pierced with several openings, each of which admitted a shaft of radiant sunshine, setting the room aglow.

It was a subtle change, but a change nonetheless that came over Cambel's face as he drank in the warm sunshine. "This will help me," he said. "It is closer to what I need than what I have had, but still I fear it will not be quite enough."

"Nonsense!" I said. "It is just like being in the outdoors. Why, in this room, I almost feel as if the Winter has passed us by and Spring has blessed us with its presence."

"That would be a shame," he said, "to have missed the charms of Winter. That is why this room will but provide a false comfort to my illness. The magick of this room denies the Wheel of the Year and, thus, cannot be sustained nor can it stand in for Nature's handiwork. And, should we pass over Winter, we should pass over the Yule festivities, and that is not something I would choose to miss."

He spoke of magick, and I thought not to question it, much as I had suppressed so many questions since my arrival here, but his mention of Yule aroused my curiosity. "Yule?" I asked. "Is not that the Pagan substitute for Christmas?" I sat in a velvet covered armchair across from where he rested his elbow on a tall table.

He smiled and said, "You cannot help that you are a product of your education, for it is your teachers and your literature which twist the truth around. Your Christmas is but an appropriation of Yule. Your carollers, your Christmas trees alight with candles, your holly and mistletoe -- all were forbidden at one time by the Great Church, who saw in them the remnants of the Old Religions. In my country, we do not follow the Jesus religions, having never been conquered and forced at the point of sword to swear allegiance to that God."

"You are not a Christian, then?" I asked, intrigued by his answers and forcing myself to ignore what I thought I knew of pagans. For this was no backwards savage, I knew, nor was he a foul Satan-worshipper, desiring only the fear of his victims. "You do not believe in Christ, nor in the Resurrection?"

"The year turns through the sky like a great wheel in a track. Each year, the days grow shorter and nights longer, until the night of Yule, when the battle between Night and Day is at its peak and the Night appears to have vanquished the light. From the depths of that defeat, however, the Great Mother gives birth to the Sun King and his strength begins to wax , so that the nights begin to grow ever shorter and the days grow longer. At Imbolc he is the strapping youth, at Lady Day the King is crowned and he dances with the Maiden Goddess, at Beltane he is grown and they are promised, at Midsummer they are married when he is at the peak of his strength and yet he is stabbed with the thorn of the wedding rose. At Lammas he wanes, at Harvest Home he dies, only to enter the Mother's womb at Samhain, starting the year again. There is a resurrection each Spring when life returns to the land and each morning when the sun crosses the sky and each evening when the moon begins her trek through the sparkling heavens. It is not necessary to believe in the things you know."

The poetry of his tale was quite unexpected, and the simple power of his words helped me forget his great blasphemy. It surprised me how much of the Christian beliefs I had harboured in my thoughts, despite my outward refusal of that faith, and how easily I could be shocked by the denial of those precepts. Nonetheless, I could not but feel such simple logic and passion in those words of his as I had never before felt about the religion of my people. "Your eloquence suits your devotion," I said, "and it stirs in me such curiosity. I wish to know how you celebrate your Yule, and how we may find such light in the deepest darkness."

"Two days hence," he said, "shall come the Winter Solstice, and two days beyond that is the anniversary of your birth and the day you celebrate as the birth of Jesus. We shall celebrate the Yule with great happiness and dancing and feasting for that entire time, bridging our lands and our worlds and our faiths. We shall celebrate the birth of the Sun and the Son and the woman who lights my days..." He got down on his knees and pressed his warm lips against my cool hand, sending a fire raging through my skin and my bones and my heart.

"My days are brilliant, too," I said. "And every moment I spend away from you is a lonely sojourn in the darkness."

He helped me to stand, saying, "I must rest now, for this next morning and night will be filled with preparations. This room will suit me and will delay my decline. I shall stay here and sleep here and I wish that you would join me for meals here."

"I wish nothing less," I said, departing from his presence, feeling such new tides and currents in my heart as I had never expected to experience.

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