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This is the beginning of a novel I'm working on, I need feedback before going on...does it catch your interest right away, is the humor on target, characters likable, well developed...premise original? 3
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Blessed Divinity, life is good! The color of the wisteria framing her view was so vivid it seemed moist, like the paint was still damp on Creation. The willow tree at the top of the garden was rimned with the final golden light of the early summer day as it's graceful limbs hosted the first firefly dance of the season. The little carriage house she rented on the grounds of a stately old Victorian house was a warm presence behind the porch swing where she swayed back and forth. She caught a fleeting moment of memory from her early childhood when she had gleaned intrinsically what it was all about. Not the knowledge itself, but the memory of the joy in the knowing, the key to the code of .... well, everything. She gave herself a little mental shake, slightly embarrassed by the private "Pollyanna" moment. 5
"Ariana Craft, you're a sap!" she said with a wry chuckle at having confirmed the accusation by speaking to herself out loud. What am I so giddy about? she wondered. She felt a tiny guilty twinge. Mom and Dad's faces swam in her mind's eye, with the standard expressions of fierce affection, but always that underlying sense of disappointment. She had been expected to accomplish "Great Things", with a capitol G and a capitol T. A child prodigy, ("freak of nature" a playground haunt commented from the back of her mind), she had been expected to become something "Important", with a capitol I. A lopsided smirk played with her mouth, I may just be the most accomplished professional student in the World...well, okay the State. 6
Ah well, that's what you get when you cross a precocious brilliant genius with a terminally curious slightly ditzy scatter-brain. There might not be any cohesive thread to all the letters after her name, but hey, there sure were a lot of them! She felt a moment of sympathy for her parents who had held high hopes for an astrophysicist, or brain surgeon or even a famous trial lawyer. After all, she had earned her BA just before her seventeenth birthday. Of course, a History major with a minor in Anthropology wasn't likely to change the world. They were hopeful when she'd parlayed the Anthropology to an MA by nineteen, probably daydreaming of discoveries like King Tut's tomb. When she'd added her State Certification as a Holistic Health Care Practitioner, along with Certification in Accupressure and Reflexology; a black-belt in an obscure Korean form of martial arts, a severe yoga addiction and a published book of love poems to her credits by twenty-one...hopeful lapsed into terminally confused. Her father's famous dry wit had produced an often quoted family witticism..."Ariana we said you could be anything you want, not everything you want!" 7
She couldn't really help it, when something caught her interest, she was hooked. Okay, obsessive actually. Her parents had taken her to England the summer she turned 12. That was where her fascination for history was sparked. The incredible saga of the Brittish Monarchy and all the antiquities displayed with labels like "From the Reign of Edward The Confessor" with no indication of the actual year; and the criptic transitions from the Plantagenets to the Yorks to the Lancasters to the Tudors to The Stuarts to the Hanovers to The House of Sax-Coberg Gotha and finally to Windsor, when it was still a continual line of heredity had gripped her imagination. These were mysteries she had to solve. So books were purchased that held the answers, and within three weeks she could spout detailed biographies and genealogies of every British Monarch from the year 822. Her current fascination sprang from a specific vision of the cover she had visualized for her book of poetry. So she had run out and bought a canvas and a starter set of oil paints...that was 11 months ago. She had been rather pleased with the vivid image she had produced of a riot of flowers with a nearly hidden glimpse of a lover's kiss in a tiny alcove of stone. What shocked her was the phone call she recieved from Marsha Penser who owned The Sunset Gallery on Ocean Way, wondering if she was still in possession of the original canvas the illustration had been printed from. Ariana being Ariana, not only still had it but she had 4 more original canvases as well, having discovered an interest in painting. 8
Marsha had placed unbelievable 4 digit price tags on the paintings, and was soon clamoring for more! In spite of the mild buzz of publicity for the budding new artiste, however, her parents still had that slightly disappointed aire about them...painting didn't really tax the potential of a prodigy's intellect after all. Ariana agreed. What she had found is that the act of painting seemed to free her mind from it's tethers. She had a strange sense that... something was coming. She felt that intoxicating anticipation, like kids floated around on, in the last week of school. She put the finishing brushstrokes to a whimsical canvas that showed a massive yet quant and rambling stone castle nestled up against a hillside among a sheltering grove of huge old trees that looked to be oaks of great age. A glint among the trees was a stony meandering brook of crystal clear water. Flowers burst in cheerful groupings artfully punctuating the scene, with various assorted outbuildings and statuary. An ornate crest carved from stone was set into the wall above the massive doors. She set her easel off to the side and leaned back to revel in her effervescent mood as she watched the twilight transform itself into night. 9
The squeek of the porch swing and the songs of the crickets and cicadas seemed to be in perfect synchronization with her pulse; an orchestration conducted by something...infinite. Her awareness was thrumming with an elemental percussion. She felt the rythm deep in her belly, nerves firing in a way that was somehow more than sensual...hypersensual. 10
As the twilight deepened, the willow fronds swayed with a grace reminiscent of exquisite choreography. The fireflies weaving among them in a harmonious pattern. She tilted her head to one side as she watched, percieving a sort of communication in the intricate movements of the tiny levitating lights. Beyond the willow she glimpsed a luminous corona. It didn't alarm her as such a sight might alarm nearly anyone else. To Ariana it was a common view. Every living creature from salamanders to people came with their own unique corona in her sight. She had learned early in life that she was for the most part alone in her ability to percieve this spectrum of light. The aural field, or energy signature that most others could only experience with the aid of Kirlean photography, was visible to Ariana with the naked eye. As variable as facial expressions and body language, maybe even more so; it provided an additional factor of perception that made her insight uncanny, sometimes even scary. There were times when people thought she was somehow reading their minds. Beyond just the visual experience, what she saw somehow conveyed feelings and at times she recieved flashes of a face or a scene. There was no color key to her interpretation, her empathic grasp of what was conveyed was interpreted by an undefined sense...a feeling she gained of what each nuance meant. There are nearly infinite shades and hues in the color spectrum, so yellow of one hue might indicate thoughtfulness, another shade of yellow might convey a sense of fear, for instance. 11
She had long ago given up concerning herself much with why she could see auras, when no one else in her experience could. She suspected it had to do with the distorted mechanics of her particular vision problems. She was extremely near-sighted with an astigmatism off the charts. Astigmatism causes a visual anamoly similar to double vision. Objects appear to have an extra "ghost" edge. On non-living things, she saw just a non-dynamic duplicate of the actual edge. But on living objects, it showed to her as a luminous, faceted, expanding and contracting corona of changing light. She was far too practical by nature to dramatize it with hokey new-age mysticism. Her parents, Sean and Fiona Craft were Co-Pastors of a Unitarian Church. A very unconventional denomination that held an intellectualized perspective on spirituality, blowing the cobwebs off of the antiquated dogma of conventional religion, exploring the premises of all religion throughout history and across cultures, recognizing the mythological embellishments of specific sects and highlighting the threads of similarity that were present in the foundation of man's understanding of the realm of the Human Spirit, and the Universal Nature of The Devine, with a particular affinity for the ancient practices of paganistic, matriarchal observances and rituals, which gave practical evidence of the Divine Power inherent in focused application of the human will. It emphasized elements of the Christian bible that support a perception of the Divine that contradict the divisiveness preached by more conventional denominations. Her background, therefore, had innoculated her somewhat against reading superstitious implications into her experiences. She figured it was a trade-off. Her astigmatism made her lousy at tasks that took good hand-to-eye coordination. If she played outfield in a softball game, for example, a fly ball that looked to her as if it was going straight into her mitt was more likely to drop to her feet a foot in front of her. And it was dangerous to be out on the road if she drove at night, since oncoming vehicles usually appeared to have four headlights instead of two. She figured her ability to see the energy fields of living organisms was somehow attributable to her astigmatism. The few times she had described the phenomenon to someone like an eye doctor or a physics professor, curious to find the physiological reason for her ability,however, she had been told it was "impossible" for her to see what she described. That was an eye-opener. She was too confident to doubt her own life-long constant experience because someone told her it was impossible. Obviously it wasn't. It didn't require anyone else to believe that she could see auras in order for her to see auras. Ironic really, the fact that scientific dogma denied the possibility of something she knew from experience to be absolute fact. As a result she had developed a certain a lack of confidence in the reliability of "scientific" conclusions that debunked the possibility of any phenomena that had been widely reported to have been experienced. She was confident in scientific data that proved specific conclusions. But the scientific community seemed to be prone to calling things "impossible" because they couldn't duplicate them or confirm them in a laboritory, at least so far. Well, that would be like a scientist in Newton's time saying splitting the atom was "impossible". Obviously it was possible, they just didn't yet understand how. Imagine that the scientific community were to assert that the color red doesn't exist. Having a life-long personal experience that it does indeed exist would give you a good reason to doubt any absolute conclusion the scientific community asserts from that point on. She didn't have any rationale for the flashes of scenes, faces or events that occassionaly accompanied the viewing of an aural field. But she didn't feel any particular need to find a rational explanation either. Rational explanations were over-rated! 12
So when she saw the luminescence beyond the willow tree, she recognized it as an aural field and wasn't alarmed by it; merely curious as to it's source. Too small to be a person, she watched as it drew closer, hoping it wasn't a skunk! Gradually a form of ghostly white became visible in the dying light. The corona it cast was a pinkish gold, except for a segment in the lower right portion. There were pulsing veins of reddish purple woven through the pinkish gold of the main body of the aura that Ariana percieved as pain. It's a cat! She realized. "Here kitty kitty kitty!" she trilled softly, though the cat was already making a beeline straight towards her, limping slightly. It seemed as if the cat had come intentionally to seek her out. Ariana didn't discount the possibility. Her own experiences had been good groundwork for an open mind. 13
She rose from the porch swing and met the pure white cat on the steps."Are you hurt kitty?" she asked as she sat down on the step and stroked the silky creature as it rubbed against her leg with a friendly and inquisitive "reow?" She felt the familiar warmth begin to rise from her center as she concentrated and visualized her own aura shading to blue-white and expanding and thickening around her hands. The response was immediate as her energy responded to her visualization. She was of a single-minded intent as she stroked the injured leg, first visualizing and then observing her own energy field sooth the angry purplish red veins away, leaving only the base color of pinkish gold of the rest of the cat's corona in it's place. A deep joyous satisfaction filled her as she crooned "There ya go kitty!" She was slightly startled to find herself regarded by emerald green eyes filled with obvious intellegence and wisdom. "Aren't you the special one, my beauty!" Ariana said to the ghostly white cat. Though Ariana had told a few people of her ability to see auras, she had never told anyone about this. She would certainly be told it was "impossible" if she did she imagined. She had done similar things a number of times. She had originally discovered her healing hands while studying with her martial arts teacher who had also been her first teacher in the holistic arts. He would not teach a student martial skills without also teaching the balancing healing skills. He had fixed her with his piercing gaze, and though they hadn't discussed it, she felt certain he was aware. That of course was the seed of the next obsession. She had speculated to herself that a similar phenomenon was responsible for the tales of true faith healers and the "laying on of hands". The difference being that she didn't attribute the effect to some remote diety outside of herself. She had a deeper understanding. The bible verse "your body is the Temple of The Lord" was often quoted...but rarely understood. It saddened her at times to think how few people realized the true implication of "being made in the image of The Creator". The incredible potential of The Spirit went so far beyond the sophomoric limitations of "religion". She shook herself mentally. Okay girl, that's enough of the heavy, deep stuff for tonight! The giddy feeling from earlier bubbled back to the surface as she took a final glance at the starry sky, gathered up her newly finished canvas, her easel and paints and took them inside. She returned a few moments later with a bowl filled with canned tuna, and stroked the white cat curled up on her welcome mat for a moment, savoring the inexplicable feeling of delicious anticipation that still had her in its grip, before retiring finally for the night. The firefly dance sparked through her dreams that night in an intricate pattern. She watched with a strange assurance that a meaning of some sort would become clear in the whimsical, luminous faire. Dappled leaf shadows through the window tickled her awake. She stretched her generously curved but willowy athletic form, as she combed her fingers through the shoulder length mass of unruly strawberry blond waves. Greeting the day with a short but invigorating session of yoga, she showered and put on her routinely minimum face; just a bit of lip gloss and lashes. Pulling on a loose and floaty sundress, she was already beginning to call to her minds eye a whimsical version of her tree attended by fireflies that she intended to begin putting to canvas that morning. "Ow!" she muttered as she stubbed her toe on a thick manilla envelope lying under the mail slot of her front door. 14
That's a first! She thought to herself as she bent to pick it up. Since when does Joe start his rounds before 8 am? She slid her finger under the flap and tore it open noting that there was no return address. She had started to pull out the contents when she noticed the line of stamps had no cancelation mark. Curioser and curioser. She stepped out her front door and sat down on her porch swing. Hmmmm....She pulled out the thick bundle of papers, turning aside the blank sheet on top, she found herself looking at an ornate deed of ownership decorated with intricate gilded patterns and embellishments. She thought to herself as she bent to pick it up. Since when does Joe start his rounds before 8 am? She slid her finger under the flap and tore it open noting that there was no return address. She had started to pull out the contents when she noticed the line of stamps had no cancelation mark. Curioser and curioser. She stepped out her front door and sat down on her porch swing. Hmmmm....She pulled out the thick bundle of papers, turning aside the blank sheet on top, she found herself looking at an ornate deed of ownership decorated with intricate gilded patterns and embellishments. She thought to herself as she bent to pick it up. Since when does Joe start his rounds before 8 am? She slid her finger under the flap and tore it open noting that there was no return address. She had started to pull out the contents when she noticed the line of stamps had no cancelation mark. Curioser and curioser. She stepped out her front door and sat down on her porch swing. Hmmmm....She pulled out the thick bundle of papers, turning aside the blank sheet on top, she found herself looking at an ornate deed of ownership decorated with intricate gilded patterns and embellishments. She thought to herself as she bent to pick it up. Since when does Joe start his rounds before 8 am? She slid her finger under the flap and tore it open noting that there was no return address. She had started to pull out the contents when she noticed the line of stamps had no cancelation mark. Curioser and curioser. She stepped out her front door and sat down on her porch swing. Hmmmm....She pulled out the thick bundle of papers, turning aside the blank sheet on top, she found herself looking at an ornate deed of ownership decorated with intricate gilded patterns and embellishments.
This Deed of Ownership of the Estate,
Lands, Buildings, Chattel, Goods, and Coin of
The Marquesal Peerage of Oakhaven
in the County of Aberdeenshire, Scotland, UK,
does grant legal ownership
and all associated rights and duties to
Ariana Colleen Craft
delivered to Sean and Fiona Craft
in Santa Barbara, Ca USA
in The Year Of Our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Four,
on June 21st at 12:15 am
and to lawfully pass to her duly appointed heirs
upon her death or at her will.
This is a legal and binding document issued by the authority of the governing body of the aforementioned county, operating under the Royal Seal of the Sovereign State wherein it lies, henceforth entitling Lady Ariana Craft The Marquessa of Oakhaven The Noble Title of The Most Honorable of The Peerage of Scotland and all associated entitlements of The Peerage of Scotland created prior to the year of 1707.The Aforementioned So Vested By the Authority of The Seated Monarch of The Realm and reaffirmed as of January 1st 2006.
Huh? Succombing to a stereotypically cartoonish urge to shake what had to be cobwebs out of her head, she very deliberately closed her unhinged mouth and read it through again. This is a joke, she concluded to herself with confident assurance. Lady Ariana Craft The Most Honorable Marquesa Of Oakhaven indeed! The offspring of American Dreamers didn't just wake up one day to find themselves a landed Marquesa of the bloody realm! It had to be a sales gimmick of some sort, or some very challenged comedian's idea of a practical joke. Somewhere in this mountain of paper there's going to be small print that reads American Publisher's Sweepstakes... if you are holding the winning document number at time of drawing...or some such nonsense. She had to admit that it was probably the most creative marketing campaign she'd ever come across. She examed the deed looking for a number; none was apparent, but it was probably just embossed in invisible ink on the back or something. She turned to the next page, curious how the come-on was going to play out. 15
Huh?... Okay Ariana, you're going to have to improve your mental vocabulary girl, she admonished herself as she scanned the detailed itemization of financial notations that appeared on the next page where she'd been expecting graphics stating what magazines you could order, of course no order being required to win! Instead she was looking at what seemed to be some gazillionaire jetsetter's personal bank account statements and, on subsequent pages, stock portfolio. She flipped through to the final page looking for the telltale, Enter To Win! Nope. Just some very dizzying figures with, gulp, 8 digits before the decimel point. What is this? She was wearing a vacuous expression that validated her self-proclaimed title of ditz very graphically. She debated pitching the whole dubious pile in the trashcan and getting on with her day, but as she began to do so, she got a distinctly uncomfortable pins and needles sensation, noticed her forearms had sprouted goosebumps, and experienced an electrical tingling sensation in her scalp. Though she didn't consciously look for "gut" feelings in her normal dealings, she had never been one to ignore such phenomena. As she replaced the whole stack in the envelope, she noticed there was another item still inside. She pulled out a snapshot and blanched when she saw a massive yet quant and rambling stone castle nestled up against a hillside among a sheltering grove of huge old trees that looked to be oaks of great age. A glint among the trees was a stony meandering brook of crystal clear water. Flowers burst in cheerful groupings artfully punctuating the scene, with various assorted outbuildings and statuary...just like the painting she had finished the night before...the only difference being the absence of the crest above the door. The hair on the back of her neck seemed to develope a life of it's own, and she gave an involuntary shiver in spite of the warm air of the summer morning. Okay Ariana, you're going to have to improve your mental vocabulary girl, she admonished herself as she scanned the detailed itemization of financial notations that appeared on the next page where she'd been expecting graphics stating what magazines you could order, of course no order being required to win! Instead she was looking at what seemed to be some gazillionaire jetsetter's personal bank account statements and, on subsequent pages, stock portfolio. She flipped through to the final page looking for the telltale, Enter To Win! Nope. Just some very dizzying figures with, gulp, 8 digits before the decimel point. What is this? She was wearing a vacuous expression that validated her self-proclaimed title of ditz very graphically. She debated pitching the whole dubious pile in the trashcan and getting on with her day, but as she began to do so, she got a distinctly uncomfortable pins and needles sensation, noticed her forearms had sprouted goosebumps, and experienced an electrical tingling sensation in her scalp. Though she didn't consciously look for "gut" feelings in her normal dealings, she had never been one to ignore such phenomena. As she replaced the whole stack in the envelope, she noticed there was another item still inside. She pulled out a snapshot and blanched when she saw a massive yet quant and rambling stone castle nestled up against a hillside among a sheltering grove of huge old trees that looked to be oaks of great age. A glint among the trees was a stony meandering brook of crystal clear water. Flowers burst in cheerful groupings artfully punctuating the scene, with various assorted outbuildings and statuary...just like the painting she had finished the night before...the only difference being the absence of the crest above the door. The hair on the back of her neck seemed to develope a life of it's own, and she gave an involuntary shiver in spite of the warm air of the summer morning. Okay Ariana, you're going to have to improve your mental vocabulary girl, she admonished herself as she scanned the detailed itemization of financial notations that appeared on the next page where she'd been expecting graphics stating what magazines you could order, of course no order being required to win! Instead she was looking at what seemed to be some gazillionaire jetsetter's personal bank account statements and, on subsequent pages, stock portfolio. She flipped through to the final page looking for the telltale, Enter To Win! Nope. Just some very dizzying figures with, gulp, 8 digits before the decimel point. What is this? She was wearing a vacuous expression that validated her self-proclaimed title of ditz very graphically. She debated pitching the whole dubious pile in the trashcan and getting on with her day, but as she began to do so, she got a distinctly uncomfortable pins and needles sensation, noticed her forearms had sprouted goosebumps, and experienced an electrical tingling sensation in her scalp. Though she didn't consciously look for "gut" feelings in her normal dealings, she had never been one to ignore such phenomena. As she replaced the whole stack in the envelope, she noticed there was another item still inside. She pulled out a snapshot and blanched when she saw a massive yet quant and rambling stone castle nestled up against a hillside among a sheltering grove of huge old trees that looked to be oaks of great age. A glint among the trees was a stony meandering brook of crystal clear water. Flowers burst in cheerful groupings artfully punctuating the scene, with various assorted outbuildings and statuary...just like the painting she had finished the night before...the only difference being the absence of the crest above the door. The hair on the back of her neck seemed to develope a life of it's own, and she gave an involuntary shiver in spite of the warm air of the summer morning. Okay Ariana, you're going to have to improve your mental vocabulary girl, she admonished herself as she scanned the detailed itemization of financial notations that appeared on the next page where she'd been expecting graphics stating what magazines you could order, of course no order being required to win! Instead she was looking at what seemed to be some gazillionaire jetsetter's personal bank account statements and, on subsequent pages, stock portfolio. She flipped through to the final page looking for the telltale, Enter To Win! Nope. Just some very dizzying figures with, gulp, 8 digits before the decimel point. What is this? She was wearing a vacuous expression that validated her self-proclaimed title of ditz very graphically. She debated pitching the whole dubious pile in the trashcan and getting on with her day, but as she began to do so, she got a distinctly uncomfortable pins and needles sensation, noticed her forearms had sprouted goosebumps, and experienced an electrical tingling sensation in her scalp. Though she didn't consciously look for "gut" feelings in her normal dealings, she had never been one to ignore such phenomena. As she replaced the whole stack in the envelope, she noticed there was another item still inside. She pulled out a snapshot and blanched when she saw a massive yet quant and rambling stone castle nestled up against a hillside among a sheltering grove of huge old trees that looked to be oaks of great age. A glint among the trees was a stony meandering brook of crystal clear water. Flowers burst in cheerful groupings artfully punctuating the scene, with various assorted outbuildings and statuary...just like the painting she had finished the night before...the only difference being the absence of the crest above the door. The hair on the back of her neck seemed to develope a life of it's own, and she gave an involuntary shiver in spite of the warm air of the summer morning. 16
Moments later, having quickly changed into shorts and sneakers and a shortsleeved t-shirt, she came back out with the envelope in a bookbag hanging from her shoulder, climbed on her moped and headed for the University Campus a few short blocks away. Enjoying a certain noteriety on campus due to her tender age upon entering and her diverse pursuits in subsequent years, she had friends among the faculty in most of the departments. She climbed the stairs to the somber building that was heralded in stone as The School Of Law. She entered the somber shadowy interior and climbed the stairs to the third floor. 17
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The door to the office she approached was open, and she looked in with an affectionately respectful indulgence on Professor Neher, (the less reverent among the student body called him Uncle Nerd...but generally not to his face) His tweed patched jacket bespoke a closer affiliation with a professorial persona than that of a barrister, and his thinning gray hair was allowed to fall into a natural state of flyaway clumps with very little interference from Professor Neher. His appearance didn't fool Ariana. She had taken classes from him in the past, (during a short-lived attempt to please the parents and become the next female caucasion Johnny Cochran...Ha! fat chance!), and she knew that his knowledge of the law was unmatched. This didn't make up for the fact that he suffered from a severe alergic reaction in courtroom situations any time he was forced to argue on the side of a defendant who was guilty, or argue against one who was innocent. It was not a pretty sight. But on the letter of the law, he had no equal. 19
"Ariadne! come in, welcome!" he said with genuine warmth and enthusiasm. "It's Ariana, Professor" she prompted gently. "Of course, dear, that's what I said!" "What in the world are you doing here in my gloomy old attic room my dear?" "Well, I wonder what you make of this?" she said and slid the bundle of papers out of the envelope she'd already removed from her book bag. 20
Pushing his reading glasses further up the bridge of his nose and squinting down at the stack of documents in front of him in quientessential "Uncle Nerd" fashion, he began to read. It was very nearly comic to watch as all the crinkles smoothed out of his face in slack jawed astonishment as he came to the end of the Deed. He peered momentarily up at Ariana as if attempting to determine if she was putting him on, and then his face re-terraformed in it's characteristic crinkles as he turned to the next page. Reading through page after page with care, his face drained of all color. When he reached the end he peered at Ariana again without a word. Ariana felt like some new and consternating species of insect on the end of a pin under his scrutiny. 21
He turned to his computer screen and picked up his phone simultaneously. Ariana watched as he keyed in a search for The County of Aberdeenshire, Scotland, UK Office of Land Grants, as he spoke into the phone to the campus operator. "Connect me to the History Department dear; Professor Edwards." The website came up and he searched within the page for "The Marquesal Peerage Estate of Oakhaven." He was connected to the party he had phoned. "Thomas, do you keep a current registry on file of the Peerage of The United Kingdom? You do? Great! Can you check for me who is the current holder of the title of The Marquesal Peerage of Oakhaven in the County Aberdeenshire in Scotland? Thanks, I'll hold on." The computer screen filled in a document easily recognizable as a deed. Ariana was close enough to read the key line: "Holder of Title of Deed" Her Ladyship Ariana Colleen Craft; Marquesa of Oakhaven, just as Professor Neher spoke into the phone: "Her Ladyship Ariana Colleen Craft? You're Sure?" The professor hung up and turned to Ariana with astonishment written plainly on his face, just in time to catch Ariana as all the blood drained from her head and she slid into a very "Lady" like faint. Ariana first became aware of voices, a snatch of conversation: "Is she the one?" A thin reedy plaintive tone. "Tis possible, and of course tis certain, what is uncertain is whether you are asking the right question." A mirthful pitch, jolly and full. "What? What other question could there be?" Squeeky, meek. Deep, throaty, ironic chuckle. "Elementary my dear "What" Son!" Maniacal giggles at the dorky play on words. "Maybe the right question should be: "Is now the when?" ...A stereotypical snorting laugh preceded: "By the way...Who's on first?" The screaming cackle faded on a sharp note, reminding Ariana of gray halls, padded rooms and vacant drooling stares. 22
Cloud soup...I'm swimming in cloud soup. She made her way slowly to the surface...uncertain if she really wanted to break through. This way there be dragons! She had a moment's irrational fear that if she opened her eyes the room would be filled with manic, shrieking, cackling faces...Nothing is that damn funny...a laugh that sharp could draw blood... Her eyelids fluttered open, startled, she caught her breath. She was in the Dean's private office. Oh holy of holy's, she was lying on the prized antique gothic velvet chaise that No One was allowed to besmurch with a perched buttock. She felt a giggle rising up the back of her throat, and quickly choked it back....oh no, there lies the yellow brick road to hysteria! She immediately had to do it all over again as giggles again threatened to rise. Ariana, get a grip! just stop with the absurd thoughts, already! There was a little solicitous hovering-faces-creature swimming slowly into focus...Good grief they've melted together...okay that's it, I need an insanity inoculation desperately! Professor Neher spoke first..."I think she's coming around." She was absolutely appalled to hear herself utter the most cliched inanity of all fainters everywhere..."Where am I?" She made her way slowly to the surface...uncertain if she really wanted to break through. This way there be dragons! She had a moment's irrational fear that if she opened her eyes the room would be filled with manic, shrieking, cackling faces...Nothing is that damn funny...a laugh that sharp could draw blood... Her eyelids fluttered open, startled, she caught her breath. She was in the Dean's private office. Oh holy of holy's, she was lying on the prized antique gothic velvet chaise that No One was allowed to besmurch with a perched buttock. She felt a giggle rising up the back of her throat, and quickly choked it back....oh no, there lies the yellow brick road to hysteria! She immediately had to do it all over again as giggles again threatened to rise. Ariana, get a grip! just stop with the absurd thoughts, already! There was a little solicitous hovering-faces-creature swimming slowly into focus...Good grief they've melted together...okay that's it, I need an insanity inoculation desperately! Professor Neher spoke first..."I think she's coming around." She was absolutely appalled to hear herself utter the most cliched inanity of all fainters everywhere..."Where am I?" Ding Dong! Hello! We already established that! The Dean's office!...Oh good grief...The Chaise! She immediately attempted to scramble up off the forbidden hee hee FAINTING couch! A single giggle escaped at the antics of the out of control bad comic that seemed to have taken up residence in her brain, but she managed to turn it into a choked gurgle. "Water, quickly! Bring her some water!" someone said. "Lady Craft?" "Lady Ariana?" "Are you alright?" Huh? "Who?" Ariana managed to gasp. "You dear, are you all right?" "Uncle Nerd?" Oh Blessed Devinity, did she actually say that out loud?! She drew in a breath to ask "What happened?" But having already blurted out World Class Stupid Cliche Numero Uno, she managed to remain silent, even though she actually didn't know the answer to this one. Fortunately, Uncle Nerd stepped up. "Lady Ariana, do you know what happened?" Hey that's my line! "Uh, no...do you?" Ariana replied. "Well yes My Lady, you fainted." No Kidding! Uncle Nerd appeared to have a brilliant talent for stating the obvious. "Yes, but how did I get here to the Dean's office?" Professor Neher colored slightly "Well, uh, I enlisted the aid of some students to bring you here...it seemed more appropriate, considering the, uh circumstances." "Huh?" Ariana cringed inwardly at her continued inability to avoid sounding like a cave dweller. "It appears my dear, that you have inheritated a very high ranking title in the Scottish Peerage, you are the Marquessa of Oakhaven." "Professor Neher?" Ariana said in a small voice. "Yes my dear?" "You mean a Marquesa as in a Marquesa?!" Professor Neher regarded Ariana with a curious mix of sympathy and awe. "Yes, Ariana, It's The Noble Rank above that of an Earl superseded only by that of Duke." Ariana sat up and took a deep breath. Good Lord it's not a dream! "I don't understand Professor, inherited it from who? My parents aren't er Marquesas." The Professor appeared startled. "Why I don't know...the paperwork you showed me didn't specify!" Curioser and curioser! She made her way slowly to the surface...uncertain if she really wanted to break through. This way there be dragons! She had a moment's irrational fear that if she opened her eyes the room would be filled with manic, shrieking, cackling faces...Nothing is that damn funny...a laugh that sharp could draw blood... Her eyelids fluttered open, startled, she caught her breath. She was in the Dean's private office. Oh holy of holy's, she was lying on the prized antique gothic velvet chaise that No One was allowed to besmurch with a perched buttock. She felt a giggle rising up the back of her throat, and quickly choked it back....oh no, there lies the yellow brick road to hysteria! She immediately had to do it all over again as giggles again threatened to rise. Ariana, get a grip! just stop with the absurd thoughts, already! There was a little solicitous hovering-faces-creature swimming slowly into focus...Good grief they've melted together...okay that's it, I need an insanity inoculation desperately! Professor Neher spoke first..."I think she's coming around." She was absolutely appalled to hear herself utter the most cliched inanity of all fainters everywhere..."Where am I?"
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Ariana and Professor Neher were sitting across the desk from Professor Edwards in his office, trying to make sense of the unbelievable evidence in the envelope Ariana had so inexplicably recieved that morning. "Highly Irregular, I must say." Professor Edwards looked up from his own examination of the documents. "There is no mention made of your predessor, yet this document appears to be lawful and complete." Professor Neher nodded. And The Official Registry of The Peerage Of The United Kingdom lists you as the current holder of the title, the land and estate is all deeded in your name. But each time I attempt to access the listing of the ancestral line, I recieve a you are not authorized to view this page notification on the screen. There is a firm of solicitors in Inverness listed as the drafter of the documents. It would seem that your next step should be to contact them directly." 26
Ariana had been walking around in a daze for a week. The Mar-bloody-quesa of Oakhaven! Not only was she now the holder of a high ranking noble title, and the owner of a by god castle; it would seem she was filthy rich as well! Holdings worth well over ninety million dollars! She had requested that the professors who had been involved in verifying the inheritance speak of it to no one. For some reason, she found the whole thing intensely embarrassing. She had, of course, contacted the firm of solicitors Crone, Madera and Kyote in Inverness Scotland. They were standing by to assist her when she arrived to take possession of Oakhaven. However they were either unable or unwilling to enlighten her as to who her actual benefactor was! The Registry of the Peerage in the UK claimed the information regarding the ancestral line of the House of Oakhaven was not accessable at this time. Ariana didn't know if that meant they couldn't access it or that they just wouldn't release it. This struck her as highly suspicious, since the ancestral line of inheritance of every other noble house in the Kingdom was a matter of readily accessible public record. 27
She had told no one other than her parents. That conversation had revealed additional information that had further rocked the foundations of her life. They had listened to her tale in shocked silence. Then after taking the time to absorb it; they had reluctantly revealed a secret they had never intended to tell her. At 15 minutes after midnight on June 21st 1984, they had been awakened by a loud knocking at their door. When they opened it they found her swaddled in a basket on the front steps. Having been desperately trying to concieve for years, they assured Ariana that no baby had ever been more wanted. However they could shed absolutely no light on the mysterious origins of her staggering inheritance. So the last few days had been spent tying up the loose ends of her affairs, putting the bulk of her belongings in storage, and packing for the adventure of a lifetime...traveling to Scotland to take possession of her own freaking castle, her by god millions of pounds not dollars pounds!, and to meet Queen OH MY GOD Elizabeth the II of England to undergo her holy freaking mackeral Ceremony of Investiture as The Most Honorable Marquesa of Oakhaven, Her Ladyship Ariana Colleen Craft BA MA HHCP. (Musn't forget those letters!) It seemed unlikely in her parents' wildest expectations that she would do "Great Things"; that they had ever remotely imagined something like this. But that slightly disappointed aire on their faces did seem to have disappeared! 28
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She was uneasy whenever she spent any thought on the strange circumstance that she had apparently painted a very accurate rendering of the Castle of Oakhaven before ever having seen the picture. In fact if she allowed herself to examine any of this phenomenal situation too closely or logically she feared she would run screaming in frenzied circles while ripping at her hair, and end up committed. She didn't want to do that...she rather fancied owning a centuries-old castle in the Highlands of Scotland; To say nothing of being a Marquesa and a gazillionaire! The feeling that Something Was Going To Happen, had not gone away. So apparently that "Something" hadn't been a prescience of the inheritance, (as if that weren't enough!), but something that had yet to occur...What could possibly top this? she wondered as she leaned her head back against the first class plane seat, and languidly sipped chilly champagne. I wonder what the French Riviera is like...or Monaco,...Versailles...The Louvre...Buckingham gasp Palace...I wonder how many rooms are in MY very own by god bleeding castle? She thought to herself as she dozed off to sleep. 30
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Blessed Divinity, this place is in the back of beyond! She replayed in her mind the distance she had traveled from Inverness in the back of the Oh-so-English black Bentley limosine chauffered by an extremely proper and deferential uniformed driver, who addressed her as "Your Ladyship", and met all her querry's with "I beg your pardon Your Ladyship, but I have not been entrusted with the privilege of imparting information of any importance to you My Lady" Making it seem as if she was being done a favor in not being answered. That was quite the trick, Ariana noted with wry amusement. She was rapidly discovering a new fascination with the linguistic nuances of this English tongue which was most certainly a different language than was spoken in America. 33
And the few stops they'd made along the way in Scotland since leaving Inverness had shown her that the Scottish version was another one still. She wondered if it was her imagination, but the farther they went into the highlands the more pronounced it seemed her driver's Scottish brogue became. Her Transatlantic flight had landed in London, and she'd had a brief layover at Heathrow Airport before meeting the connecting flight to Inverness Scotland. Randall had been waiting there in his impeccable uniform with a framed board stenciled with "Lady Ariana Craft" in caligraphy for gosh sakes! It felt surreal. Like she was living an unbelievable fairytale of some sort. She wondered if it was the "happily ever after" sort or "and the big bad wolf ate her all up!" type. The drive had been like a moving poster of incredible vista followed by incredible vista as she stared out the window. Hours passed before Randall cleared his throat as he pulled up in front of a substantial stone building with a fanciful sign swinging in front with a medieval looking picture of a white stag. "Here we are Your Ladyship, one moment and I'll get yer door." 34
He had been scandalized, at the first stop they had made, when she had opened her own door as soon as the car came to a stop. Each subsequent time, he'd made that little anouncement to prevent her from risking life and limb or taxing her delicate physique by attempting the odious task again on her own! "And exactly where might that be Randall?" she teased subtley, thinking they were simply making another stop on the wayside for fuel or refreshment. "Why this is Oakhaven Township My Lady, these folk are yer villeins." Though she knew "villeins" was like another word for "citizens" or "constituents"; she still felt a hot flush color her cheeks. It had come across as if these people were the "Chattel" mentioned in that infamous deed to her unschooled ears, and she had an American aversion to the concept. It still didn't feel like reality to be constantly addressed as "Your Ladyship" by all and sundry, but the few attempts she'd made to invite people to address her as Ariana had been met with horrified protests. "Oh no Your Ladyship! It wouldn't be proper!" 35
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So here she was, with her Americanized speech and manners feeling like a cloddish oaf in the manners department in comparison with these proper Brittish folk, yet she was Nobility, while they were but Commoners. What an odd concept for one who comes from a place where your relative class or lack thereof is determined mostly on how you behave...your manners. "So the castle is near?"she asked. "Oh it's still a fair piece My Lady." He replied. Confused, she asked him "So why are we stopping here?" as she stepped out of the car. "Why to meet with your escort My Lady, it wouldna be proper for you to meet Castle Oakhaven for the vera first time with naught but the household staff and driver to welcome you." Good grief, I wonder if they have a list written down somewhere of all the things that are proper and those that aren't. "And just who is my escort Randall?" she asked. "Why tis his Lairdship himself My Lady, Laird Angus McDonald; Earl of Thorndale, yer neighbor." 37
Randall held the door open for her, and she stepped out of the chilly wind into a warm and welcoming room filled with the low sounds of friendly conversation, which died to silence as soon as she'd crossed the threshhold. Randall stepped forward and embarrassed her by announcing in a booming baritone "Lady Ariana Craft, Marquesa of Oakhaven!" She just about wanted to sink into the floor as everyone rose to their feet, presenting her with deferential bows and curtsies and "Welcome Your Ladyship". She hadn't the slightest idea how to respond. Then the crowds parted as a huge man a head taller than most of the rest in the room, lean and muscled with shoulder length hair like black silk pulled into a queu at the nape of his neck, and flashing blue eyes stepped up to her. "Welcome to Oakhaven Fair Ariana, I'm Angus McDonald of Thorndale, yer neighbor" His body glowed with a brilliant blue aura, dazzlingly vivid. Most people's auras were relatively subdued compared to her own, but this man fairly crackled with energy. That feeling that had stuck with her that Something Was Going To Happen, flared within her at that moment and her own bluegreen fire crackled and expanded flaring out in tendrils in a manner that had never happened spontaneously before, reaching out to mingle with the brilliant blue that surrounded the towering highlander, and she saw a tremor hum through his body at the moment of contact that mirrored her own. It felt like an intimate carress, and Ariana flushed to the roots of her hair. After the initial shock of the meeting subsided she felt a strange awareness flare to life in her center, and she realized that the "Something" she'd been so giddily anticipating had well and truly begun! 38
She opened her mouth to reply and was instantly mortiphied at the gush of oafish silliness that spilled out of it's own accord. "Oh thank you so much for calling me plain Ariana er well no, you said Fair Ariana didn't you tee hee hee, but I mean with out all the ladyship nonsense and all...is that because you're a noble too?" She finally bit her tongue to stop the avalanche and stood like a stone with a horrified expression on her face. As soon as she unclamped her tongue, the blasted thing continued on it's campaign to strip her of every ounce of dignity. "Holy Mackeral, you must think I'm a complete ninny, I mean you mustn't think I actually giggle like that, even though I just did, I mean I don't really giggle like that." Chomp! She recaptured the blasted thing once again, determined to bite it off rather than allow it to escape again any time in the next decade. A light of warm amusement began to dance in the saphire eyes gazing down from such a dizzying height, it required her to tip her head up 45 degrees. With a low chuckle he replied "Yes, I suppose that's because I'm a noble too, my bonnie wee lass, and please giggle at will, tis charming!" "humm um" She managed with her prisoner still firmly clamped. "Right then," he said, taking pity on her. "Shall we away?" "Um Hmmm" she whimpered from behind her lips. Her arm sizzled where he grasped it to escort her back to the waiting car. 39
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