Chapter 2 - Celine (Thirteen Years Ago)

Two Years Later

It was the morning of her sixteenth birthday when she first felt the stirrings within herself that she had been taught meant that her wolf was ready to emerge. Her hair, while still in the choppy pixie style, was now a deep teal colour. She had a habit of choosing a different colour every few months, once the old one had faded. She had gone through a veritable rainbow of colours in the last couple of years, but now she favoured greens and blues.

“Auntie, I think I may have some good news!” Celine called down the stairs as she went to the kitchen for breakfast as she did every morning. “I might be wrong but…” She pauses as she descends the stairs, seeing more figures around the table than normal. She goes to her father first, “Good morning, Papa,” kissing him on his temple. Her father nods with a tight smile at her, not willing to look away from the stranger at the table.

“Morning, Celine.” She moves to her uncle,

“Good morning, Uncle Michel,” she kisses him on the temple as well, his mouth twitches at the corners but he soon resumes his own dark look at the stranger. She nods to the stranger, and moves over to her aunt at the sink “Good Morning, Auntie Eloise” giving her a side hug as she reaches for a bowl for her breakfast. Her father coughs gently,

“Celine, would you come and sit with us, I’d like to introduce someone.” he speaks clearly but quietly, breaking the uneasy silence, she nods,

“Of course.” She pours the milk over her cereal and goes to sit at the table next to her father. “Hello, Sir.” She holds out her hand to shake the strange gentleman’s hand. He takes it, it was cold to the touch and gave her an odd feeling of dread. She smiles at him and sits to eat her breakfast.

“Hello, my name is Richard.” He replies, with a thick accent that implied that not only was he English, but he didn’t know French very well. And even so, his voice still managed to feel slimy to her ears. She looks him over; he was shorter than her father, somewhere around five-seven as opposed to her father’s six-two frame. He was a large, fat man, with not a straight line to be seen, his smile was crooked and his eyes were an unsettling shade of grey-green.

She finds herself thinking the colour reminds her of snot. She hides the smile this thought brings and turns her attention to her father who was looking at her,

“Celine, we are going to speak in English as Richard doesn’t know much French.” Her father says in English. Celine nods and continues to eat her breakfast before her cereal gets too soggy. The whole family had learnt how to speak fluent English to help guests who came to visit the vineyard for wine tastings or occasional weddings held on the property, and occasional businessmen who came to arrange shipments of our wine to other places.

“Of course, father.” She turns to Richard “My apologies, if I had known you were coming, I would have brushed up on my English.” She smiles brightly, but her stomach still felt ill at ease. He smiles politely and inclines his head to her,

“Your English is very good, much better than my French I’m afraid.” His smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I am a cousin of your mother’s, and I have a proposition for you Celine, and of course, as you are not yet eighteen, I wouldn’t want to make any kind of deal with you, without involving your father.” He nods towards her father, she nods,

“I understand.” He smirks and nods,

“So, my proposition is this. I would like to offer you the chance, when you turn eighteen, for you to come to England for a few years to study there and assist me with a project that I have in mind, to change the course of destiny. Our family has a prophecy surrounding you that I just cannot ignore, and would like to avoid if at all possible.” She frowns,

“A prophecy? About me? How did I not know about that? Father?” Her father sighs and nods,

“I know of the prophecy, but had hoped to be able to keep it from you for at least another year, as it won’t affect you until you turn eighteen. I’m sorry, I should have told you before now, you’ve been old enough to understand this for a few years now.” Her father could barely look her in the eyes and she sighs,

“That bad huh?” He clenches his fists on the tabletop, she nods, “Okay, so what is this prophecy exactly and why would Richard care to try and change it?” Her father looks at his hands, while her uncle looks at her apologetically. She looks to her aunt, and while she can only see her back, it looks like she’s sobbing. “Oh, come on! Someone, tell me what’s in this prophecy. Or if it’s written down, I’ll read it!” Her aunt gasps and drops the plate she was holding,

“Eloise!” Her uncle stands quickly and goes to his wife and takes her hand, they share a few whispered words before he leads her out of the kitchen to sit in the lounge. Celine gets up and gets the broom to sweep the broken pottery up before anyone could hurt their feet. Once all the pieces were in the bin and her uncle returns to the table, Celine retakes her seat. She looks to her father and uncle,

“Could someone please just tell me what’s going on?” Her uncle sighs and nods,

“I don’t remember the words by heart, but I believe that the gist is: A girl born to a woman of this family, who dies whilst delivering the girl, would become very important. But this daughter would have to endure many hardships and travel to another country. She would travel in her eighteenth year, but it would be many years until she would return. Does that sound about right to you, Anton and Richard? Did I miss any of the key points?”

Her uncle looked incredibly sad, and so did her father. Celine was astonished, she takes a deep breath and thinks over his words, her father merely nods. She could see that he was deeply affected by this prophecy and had only hidden it to protect her. She could sense the protection he had tried desperately to weave around her, to keep this prophecy from coming true. She wasn’t entirely sure how she knew these things, but dismissed it for the moment.

She refocuses on Richard who was sitting there with a slight smile on his face. Celine shudders as his eyes trail around the room to find hers. He knows what he’s doing here, and he’s hopeful that they’ll agree to his proposition. He’s sure that he’s her best option, but he also needs her for something, something darker that he’s hiding from them. He smirks,

“I believe that covers the majority of it, yes. There may be a few minor details that are covered in the prophecy as written, but nothing of great import for the moment. So, the proposition I have is as follows, I will take her back home with me to England in two years, around her eighteenth birthday, and while she stays with me, I will try to stop the hardship mentioned in the prophecy from occurring.” Her father and uncle glance at each other, her father sighs,

“A nice thought, but what assurances can you give to her safety with you?” Richard nods,

 “I cannot, of course, guarantee anything, but I would keep you updated on things as they progress. You would remain in contact during the entire time she is with me.” Her father and uncle share another look, and then both look at Celine. Her father sighs and looks at Richard,

“I think we have a lot to discuss as a family. You may stay in the guest house nearest the château for the duration of your stay with us. Michel, would you kindly show him there and then return here? Once you are back, we will discuss this together.” Michel nods, stands and holds a hand towards the door to show Richard out the kitchen door, Richard stands and bows,

“Anton, Michel and Celine thank you for hearing me out. I do hope you will make the right call. And I hope Eloise isn’t too upset by my visit.” Then he turns and leaves with her uncle, walking towards the house on the opposite side of the vineyard. As soon as he was out of sight, Eloise returns to the kitchen. Her face is ashen, almost grey, streaked with the still-falling tears.

She had brought with her a large bottle of whiskey that was conspicuously open and had a few good swigs missing from the bottle. She goes to the cupboard, gathers three glasses, and pours three generous glasses of the amber liquid. Celine’s father downs his and motions for the bottle, which Eloise slides across the table to him, he pours himself another and sits staring into its depths. She puts a hand on his arm,

“Father?” Celine slips easily back into French now that Richard has left. Eloise sighs and looks at her sadly,

“Please, Celine. Please wait for your uncle to return then we will tell you everything we know.” Celine nods, and takes her now empty bowl to the sink and finishes the washing up that her aunt had started. She lets them sit in silence. Celine could feel that the energy in the room had changed, it was tense, nervous, angry and sad. She wondered how she knew that but was unwilling to break the silence to ask anyone about it.

In the quiet she tries to listen to her wolf, to see if she had any thoughts to share. Her wolf was present, she was certain of that now, but she was either unable or unwilling to talk. Or to shed any light on what was happening to her, feeling the emotions of others, and some thoughts maybe? She frowns to herself and sits back down at the table, none the wiser.

Half an hour later, Michel returns, taking the glass of whiskey Eloise offers him and downing it. Pouring himself another, as he takes his seat beside her and groans,

“Well, Shit!” This earns him a stern look of disapproval from her aunt and a smirk from her father who chuckles,

“Pretty much.” Celine stares between them, willing them to explain. Hoping that someone would be able to make any of this make sense. Eloise tenses and sighs, seemingly unwilling to be the one to start this particular conversation. Tears continue to roll down her face, but the sobs had stopped. She holds herself stiffly in the chair.

Celine sighs, gets up from the table again and goes to sit out on the patio, hoping that the sunshine and fresh air would help to ease her already troubled thoughts. She hears the adults still in the kitchen start a whispered conversation which quickly becomes louder and she can hear more of what they’re saying. Her father makes a frustrated noise,

“She doesn’t have to go for two years, so why is he here now? Why is he here at all?” Then his voice breaks into a sob, “Why her? Why my little girl?” Celine closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, then re-enters the kitchen. He looks at her and she goes to him taking his hand in hers as she sits next to him,

“Father, I need to understand this. Please, explain it to me?” she holds his gaze as his eyes begin to fill with tears. He nods, takes a large sip of his whiskey and sighs,

“Yes, you deserve all the information we have.” He takes a deep shuddering breath. “Your Mother’s mother’s mother, your Great Grandmother, she was a prophetess. I don’t know exactly how it worked, but she wrote out her visions in a journal and that journal has been passed down to the next generation and the women each had some gift or other. Your grandmother was able to heal by touch, your mother…” he pauses, seeming to search for the right words.

Celine feels her skin itch, this was possibly the most her father had ever spoken to her about her mother and her family, but waited quietly for him to continue. Unwilling to break his stream of thought, she wanted to know them better; she’d never met them. He smiles softly and looks at her,

“She could produce illusions, she would put on firework shows at the end of the harvest when we would celebrate with everyone who had come to help us.” Celine had never seen these displays in person, her mother having died giving birth to her, but had seen photographs of her in the Château from the years before. Her father seemed lost in memory for a moment. She tilts her head and looks up at him,

“So, I’m likely to get a gift at some point? Is there a way to know what the gift would be, or when it would show up?” Her aunt speaks slowly, not wanting to break her father’s reverie,

“Celine, your mother left notes in the journal she left for you. It seems your gift will start to show itself when your wolf comes to you.” Eloise sighs again and drains the last of her glass before pouring another. Michel gave her a reproving look; she stares her husband down and he lowers his eyes back to his own nearly empty glass. “I have the journal; I’ll go and get it.” She stands, swaying gently. Her uncle stands quickly, holding out an arm to steady her.

She waves him off once she’s steady and walks back to the lounge. He remains standing for a moment but eventually slumps back into the chair, running his hands through his hair, looking older suddenly. Celine glances back at her father. His eyes had glazed over a little, and she knew he would need time to bring himself back to the room. Reminiscing on her mother often had that effect on him, and it was best to wait it out.

Eloise returns a minute or so later with a wooden box, it was a foot wide, six inches deep and about ten inches tall, it was bound with iron strips and decorated with a snarling wolf-head lock, with the keyhole in its mouth. Eloise reaches for her necklace, takes it off and holds out the key to Celine. She slides the box across the kitchen table towards Celine, who is confused but uses the key, and the lock clicks. She takes the sides of the lid and lifts it.

Inside are a few old pictures, some of her extended family: her aunt and uncle dancing on the patio outside the kitchen, and other family members in various candid moments. But most of them were of her mother, laughing with her father, working in the vineyard, stomping the grapes with her legs stained purple from the grape juices, and dancing in front of the Château.

Then there are more of her as she grows steadily more and more pregnant. Celine struggles to keep the tears from her eyes, not wanting to miss any of the details that she’d missed with her not being around to know. She slowly put the photos aside and looked at the rest of the contents of the small chest.

An old leather journal, the dark tan leather cracked in multiple places but still visible were the floral patterns that had been tooled into the leather when it was new. It had been inexpertly repaired multiple times, with some patches of different coloured leather glued on, and more recently someone had tried to repair it with silver duct tape. She runs her fingers over the book.

She marvels at its broken beauty, wondering if it was not now more beautiful for the hard work gone into keeping it functioning. She sets it to one side to look at the last thing in the box: a letter, the name across the front in a flowing script she hadn’t seen before.

‘À ma très chère Celine…’

To my dearest Celine. The tears fought to get out, and Celine knew she was fighting a losing battle. A sob escapes her lips before she could stop it. Her uncle reaches out and takes her hand with his rough one and squeezes gently. Celine lets the tears fall quietly, not wanting to break the reverent silence that had fallen over the table. Her uncle coughs,

“You should save the letter for when you are alone my dear.” His voice was thick with emotion. Michel smiled sadly at her, “She wasn’t well towards the end and wanted to make sure she passed on what she could to you, those words are for you not us.” He swipes at the tears on his face with the back of his hand, and with a deep sniff and a cough, pulls himself together. “You need to read the prophecy now, and we will do our best to help you understand it.”

“Okay uncle.” She puts the letter and photos back into the box, then pulls the journal over in front of her and starts to flip through the pages. She notices the journal is much older than she’d realised, with more than the three generations she’d expected. Her aunt points at the book,

“There is a bookmark on the page with the prophecy, your mother wanted you to be able to find it when the time was right and knew how hard it would be to find it in that old thing.” Eloise indicates a tasselled bookmark poking out near the back. She looks at her aunt. She had managed to stop crying and was looking a little less wan, Celine smiles at her and leans across to squeeze her hand quickly. Her aunt gives her a small smile and nods,

Celine finds the bookmark and opens to the page. The woven bookmark has a faded blue tassel and was made of woven threads depicting wolves running in a forest, at the bottom of the bookmark was an old wolf’s tooth with a hole drilled through to be able to tie it onto the bookmark. She puts it to one side to look at the page it had been marking.

It looked much like many of the others she had seen flipping through. But its words had her feeling like her world was slipping through her fingers and she was unable to do anything to stop it.

‘A death-borne daughter will be sent to a foreign land upon her eighteenth summer. This land will cause deep sorrow and many great hardships to fall upon her. She will know great pain, within and without. But she will return to a place of honour, greater than from whence she came. Many years will have passed, and her gift will have grown. She will be the source of many blessings for her people.’

“So, I’m the ‘death-borne daughter’? Are we sure it’s me?” Her hands shaking, she puts the journal down on the table. She clenches her fists on the table, careful not to damage the book. Her eyes are stuck to the page, reading it over and over. She doesn’t dare to look up at the adults surrounding her, not really wanting to know, but needing to none the less. Her father whispers,

“Yes, and yes,” he spoke so low she struggles to hear him. He stands and walks to stand in the doorway to the patio, leaning on the doorframe as if it could bear the weight he’d carried, knowing this from possibly before she was even conceived. Her aunt moves to sit beside her, and takes her hand gently,

“You know that your mother died during childbirth, but the full truth is that she died before you emerged from her. I had to cut her open to get you out.” Celine stares at her aunt for a moment, then glances towards her father’s back, which she notices is shaking gently with silent sobs. She looks back at her aunt and nods,

“Death-borne.” Having never met her mother, she wasn’t as sad as the adults were, but she knew their pain at her loss was deep. She re-reads the paragraph once more, then notices something in faint lettering scribbled underneath the prophecy.

“Mother has been getting more and more tired by the day, repeating this over and over and refusing to eat. I doubt she'll last the week if she continues like this… - N.D.T.”

From what she could tell, it was her mother’s handwriting and ‘NDT’ were her mother’s initials, Nicolette Du Travere. A name not many in the family would ever speak aloud around her father. They’d taken to just referring to her as her mother around Celine or just not speaking of her at all. While she did not feel the loss as keenly, she still felt like she had missed out on having a mother.

The various cousins and their mothers who lived here on the vineyard had tried to look out for Celine, but they had children of their own to contend with. She hadn’t wanted to be in the way, so she gravitated to Eloise and Michel as they had never had any children of their own. Their house was a quiet refuge from the bustle of the vineyard, the other children and the adults who would look at her with a sadness that Celine didn’t feel.

Instead, she spent most of her time alone, reading or climbing to the top of the château to watch the sunset over the vineyard. Running through the trees and climbing them pretending that the well-worn paths through the trees were lava. And many other such games which she did not need the company of others to enjoy.

Her uncle had taught her chess to help her think moves ahead of anyone else, and her father taught her poker once she was able to count to try and teach her to bluff and keep her thoughts from her face. She could now beat them both easily at either game, unless they cheated, which they did, often. Much to Celine’s chagrin, she never quite got the hang of cheating in the games she played with the two men, preferring to win honestly.

Celine sighs and brings the conversation back to Richard, who had turned up seemingly out of nowhere.

“So, how does this Richard come into the equation? Is he really my mother’s cousin?” Her aunt nods,

“Unfortunately, yes, he is your mother’s cousin. Adopted, but still…” Eloise gripped her now empty glass tightly enough for her knuckles to whiten. “He is a disgrace to the family, doing ‘experiments with destiny’. Hah! You cannot change the path of fate so easily.” Eloise clearly didn’t buy his story any more than Celine did. She sighs, sagging into the chair,

“Right, okay.” Celine feels deflated but then remembers something. “Ah, yes, I meant to tell you before Richard soured the mood this morning, when I woke up, I thought I could feel my wolf!” She smiles at the group around the table and they all rush to hug her. Even her father comes back from the doorway to the table. Her uncle chuckles,

“Finally, some good news today!” Her aunt grins and ruffles her hair,

“About time!” Her father sighs, and rests his head on hers and holds her the tightest of them all,

“My girl’s growing up.” He releases her, takes her shoulders and looks her directly in the eyes. “Did you feel anything else today that could be different, sort of like a ‘gift’?” he queries, looking at her carefully.

“I think so, but I could be wrong.” Celine takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, forcing herself to relax. “I could feel your emotions, and when Richard was here, I think I could sense his intent towards me.” Her aunt sits taking her hands to make her look at her,

“And what was his intent?” Celine furrows her brows then shakes her head,

“I’m not sure, I didn’t get the specifics. But… dark and secretive. He felt sort of… slimy and cold and I don’t know why.” Celine shudders at the memory.

“It’s okay, we can work on developing your gift over time. But we need to give Richard an answer soon, then he should leave for England again.” Michel reasons, looking at her father. Who looked as if he’d come to a decision, but he was still looking at Celine. She was chewing nervously on her bottom lip, he nods then speaks to the group,

“My answer is; ‘no’. She won’t go with him. She may end up in England, she may not. All we know from the prophecy is a foreign land, but she won’t be in his care while she’s not here.” He nods to Celine, and she hugs him tightly around his middle, relief flooding her body,

“Thank you, papa.” She lets out a deep sigh and slowly releases him. “I’m going to get dressed for my day, I’m aiming to beat my record to the top of the château and down again, and then some of the cousins and I are meeting up to go to town this evening. There’s a sort of open mic night in the town square for any local musicians to come and play, which sounded fun. And I know, absolutely no getting drunk, two drinks maximum.” Her father nods with a smirk,

“Sounds good my girl, as long as you don’t fall off the château and hurt yourself.” She groans,

“I haven’t fallen off the château in, what, six years? And even then, I only fell a little way and I only sprained my ankle!” She grins. She had slipped from the roof of one of the towers on the château and managed to stop her fall by landing on a windowsill. The windowsill happened to be the one in her father’s room. He’d had quite a rude awakening, hearing her squeal as she nearly flew past his window.

She’d climbed in through his window after he had opened it, and then promptly fell over his slippers on the floor, spraining her ankle.

“And it wasn’t the château’s fault, your slippers were in the middle of the floor.” She sticks her tongue out and runs for the stairs to get changed into her climbing gear. Laughter followed her up the stairs.