Leah Collins had always lived in her own world. Her mother called her a dreamer and her father called her a slacker. But she couldn't help it. Leah had always felt as if she didn't quite belong here—not just with her friends and family, but in her city, London, and in the modern world. She had also fostered a curious obsession with castles: their design, their defense systems, their royalty, everything. Her friends made fun of her for it, but she didn't mind.

It was this peculiar love for castles combined with a sense of adventure that led her one summer day to the train station. She had a particular destination in mind, and somehow managed to overcome all of the hustle and bustle and find a spot on the correct train.

It would be a long trip, she knew, so she pulled a worn and crinkled pamphlet out of her pocket and examined it.

"Castle Donalbain," it proclaimed, "Home to the finest chapel of the 11th century and the resting place of Prince Banquo, whose death remains a mystery to this day."

While looking through travel brochures at the tube station a few weeks back, this one had jumped out at her for no good reason. After seeing the low price (only £5 per person!), she knew that she had to go.

After paying her £5 and securing a spot on the correct train, Leah gazed contentedly through her window at the scenery flying by. Modern concrete buildings of the city blurred into bucolic rolling hills of the English moors, and Leah felt herself relax. She must have fallen asleep, because screeching breaks jolted her awake and she had to peel her cheek off of the train window.

Hoping no one had seen, she grabbed her small brochure and hurried off of the train. A tour bus waited for them outside the station. Leah hopped off, excitement building.

When they finally arrived at Donalbain, she almost burst out of her seat. She felt a curious force come upon her when she stepped onto the lawn, as if she were an iron filing being pulled toward a magnet. Leah attributed this strange feeling to her excitement for finally seeing a real castle, and proceeded to trail, dreamlike, behind the rest of the tour group.

A cobblestone path sprouted out of the grass and led to a foreboding iron gate. The guide raised it, allowing them passage, and the path then bloomed outwards to become an intricately patterned courtyard.

From there the guide ushered them through the dungeons, the Great Hall, and finally the chapel.

As they pushed open the great wooden doors, Leah stopped in her tracks, reveling at such unsurpassable beauty. A great stained-glass window rose high above them, throwing beams of colored light over every pew and statue in sight. The curious magnetic sensation that had been tugging at her throughout the tour felt stronger here.

As the group began to file out of the chapel, Leah came to a halt near the great window. She had seen the slightest movement near one of the alcoves at the far end of the sanctuary. There was something strange about it, she thought, though she couldn’t quite grasp what it was. The magnetic force grew even stronger—she needed to investigate.

Leah sank back behind a great marble pillar until she heard the last of the tour group’s shoe-scuffles on the stone floor. Then the great doors shut and...Silence. All that Leah could hear was her heartbeat and her own nervous breathing. What was she gravitating towards?

Leah’s breath quickened as she approached the alcove, and she heard a faint sigh.
A young man was on his knees in front of a small statue of a child bearing a cross, his head bowed and his right hand resting on the stone child’s head. The tinted light from the stained-glass window threw patterns of color across his back so that he seemed to be almost luminescent, as if his edges were blurred and the light was emitted from him rather than the sun.

A low whisper escaped his lips as if in prayer. Slowly he straightened his neck, his waist, his knees. He looked back over his shoulder, staring without focus at something that only he could see.

Leah’s breath caught in her throat.

That a single look could contain such emotion, she had no idea. The seraphic man’s face contained such longing and despair that Leah’s whole being seemed to reverberate with his pain. He blinked once, twice, and began to walk slowly toward the front of the sanctuary.

When he came upon the wooden cross in the center of the dais, he knelt again and used his open palm to trace the shape of the cross over his forehead, chest, and shoulders. All this was done in slow procession; his movements conveyed a ritual not constrained by time.

He stood again and strode across the dais and into a nondescript door in the wall. Leah, rooted to the same place as when she first saw the man, wrenched herself out of paralysis and began to follow him. She had to unravel this mystery.

The small door opened into a stairway with torchlight dancing on the walls. Leah saw a fleeting shadow at the top of the stairs, so she hurried onward and turned the corner to see the man walking purposefully down a long hallway. She followed, wincing at the noise her shoes made on the cobblestone. Beautiful tapestries lined the hallway, but Leah hardly noticed them as she kept her eyes glued to the back of her pursuit. There was something...off about him, though. Now that there was no sunlight shining onto him, she had expected his luminescence to vanish. That wasn’t the case. It was very faint, but the edges of his being still seemed blurry with light.

The hallway opened into a balcony overlooking the sanctuary, and the luminescent man came to a stop near a wooden door. He had the same far-off gaze as before, and now Leah stood as close to him as she could while still keeping a respectful distance. She wanted to ease his pain, whatever it was.

He stood there for a drawn-out moment and then shifted his gaze—right into Leah’s eyes. She heard, rather than felt, her sharp intake of breath the second his ice-blue eyes met hers. A dull fear encompassed her; she had been safe before as an observer, but now that the man acknowledged her presence she was no longer under the spell of anonymity.

He reached out toward Leah and cupped her cheek for a split second with an icy hand, making her shiver. He then turned and opened the door behind him, gently pulling her into the room.

With the door now shut behind them, Leah knew that she should be afraid. She wasn’t, though. Somehow she knew that this strange, ghostly man couldn’t—wouldn’t—do her harm.

He pulled her close. His touch was confusing; he seemed as solid as she, but at the same time his solidity wavered and blurred with the air around him. Although his touch was cold, it seemed to warm her in a way she had never felt before. He brushed her cheek, her neck, her forehead, and then looked into her eyes.

He was very handsome and young, but the weight of some enormous emotion seemed to press his features down so that they looked older and tired.

“Fleance?” he whispered. “Fleance…Fleance, is that you?”

Leah stood still in her confusion...Fleance? What was he talking about?

He continued to hold her like before; he tugged her close and brushed his lips over her cheeks.

What did he want from her?

Then the young man pulled her gently to sit in a chair and turned away. Now that they weren’t in direct contact, Leah could concentrate enough to examine her surroundings. They were in what looked like someone’s living quarters, with barely enough room to move about the confined space.

A soft thunk brought Leah’s attention back to the man. He now knelt next to a bed, smiling as he searched for something underneath.

He withdrew and turned once again towards her. Leah gasped. He held tenderly a long, thin sword, terrifying in its beauty. It gleamed at her in the torchlight. Even without being an expert in medieval weaponry, Leah could tell this was a masterpiece. The blade, although magnificent, was easily surpassed in beauty and grandeur by the rest of its design. Golden serpents coiled around the dusty blue grip, adhering in several places with their teeth. Precious gems studded the pommel in colors reminiscent of sunset.

Sword in hand, the man knelt in front of Leah and offered it to her with a bowed head. She was taken aback. He wanted to give the sword to her? She hardly trusted herself peeling carrots, let alone wielding an instrument as dangerous as this. Nevertheless, she tenderly wrapped her fingers around the grip of the sword and—wait. Was that hissing that she just heard?

Sure enough, as soon as her fingers closed around the hilt, the golden serpents began to move, twisting and writhing around her hand and wrist until they formed a protective barrier.

“What...How do they—”

“Fleance…” he whispered, taking her other hand. “My love, you’ve returned at last.” And he looked up at her then with such joy, such certainty, that in that moment she could feel it—the blood of royalty flowed fast and fierce through her veins. She felt the rush of centuries pass her by and suddenly she was rushing with them. Through space and time Leah flew with only the weight of the sword and his hand to anchor her to reality.

Images of a life, strange yet familiar, flashed past her eyes scene by scene.

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She sat near the head of a table at a grand feast, laughing and smiling at the same man beside her. His eyes twinkled with mirth, and it looked strange compared to the sorrow she had seen in him before. He seemed so much younger here, without the weight of centuries on his shoulders.

Now the two of them sat upon a grassy hill overlooking the castle. Every surface of it seemed so new and brilliant and invincible, and they did too. Naive, perhaps, in their youth, but invincible nonetheless. Nothing could touch them here in the sunlight. The man leaned in to kiss her, but just before their lips met, the scene changed again.

They were together, this time in a small cottage. The air felt heavier here and smelled of salt and sand. The same affection existed between them, but now a weariness shrouded it slightly. They were talking with an older man and woman. Words like “worried,” “the king,” “harsh winter,” and “western nomads” wafted through the room. Leah tried to make sense of it all, but before she could connect words to ideas the scene changed.

A definite sense of urgency filled the atmosphere now. They sat side by side in the King’s Court, listening to harsh words thrown into the air and angry fists slammed against wooden tables. She shot a sidelong glance his way. His knuckles were white from clenching the arm of his chair, and the tendons in his jaw were popping. She discreetly laid a hand on his. His knuckles regained their color and he looked at her desperately. She shook her head—there was nothing they could do.

Angry tears streaked down her face now. She begged him. First, don’t go. Don’t do this to me. Then when that failed, take me with you. She wouldn’t let him leave her, wouldn’t let him do this alone. He refused, standing stoically by the door, but hot tears leaked from his eyes, betraying his emotions. He was always too noble, too stupidly noble and brave. What could she say that would make him stay? Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing, for two long years—nothing was all she felt. This memory passed slowly, unlike the glimpses that had flitted by before. She tried to fill her days with labor. Forcing her body into the mind-numbing routine was better than thinking and feeling. She kept her spirits with the thought of him, alive and well, taking her to the country to live in peace.

And it seemed, as the winter months drew nearer and the war approached its end, that this would be possible. “The kingdom will win,” the townspeople whispered. “We will soon be free again.” All seemed hopeful until the enemy, desperate in their final surge, swarmed through the castle gates. She had been preparing for this moment for the last two years, so when they came, she grabbed the beautiful sword from beneath her bed and ran into the fray. Amidst all the terrifying fighting and bloodshed, one thought remained in the back of her mind. He would be here, and she would find him.

The scene changed again, fast-forwarding hours, maybe even minutes, and suddenly she felt pain—pain as she had never experienced in either lifetime. But it was okay, because she saw his ice-blue irises gazing down at her. But they were watery...why was he crying? They were finally together!

“My brave, reckless lady,” he moaned, then whispered, “Fleance...Fleance, my love, how could this happen? I told you that it was too dangerous.”

“But...I wanted...help you…love you” She squeezed out. Why wasn’t her mouth working?

“Yes, I know, and you were very brave, but look at us now, my love. I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry,” he sobbed, desolate, “I’m sorry.” But why was he crying? She was fine, didn’t he see? She looked down to confirm her assertions. Oh. Red blossomed from a hole in her shirt, spreading quickly.

“I’m...sorry,” she choked out, finally realizing. She was dying. She was dying, and neither of them could stop it.

He stroked her cheek, whispering, “Fleance, my love, do not fear. The life we live is nothing compared to what lies ahead, and we will be together again, I know it.” He was just being noble, she knew, because she could see the pain on his face. She wished she could rid him of it.

“Always...love you. Be with you...again...someday,” she breathed, and smiled. He smiled wetly back and held her close. One more exhale, and with it Leah seemed to be exhaled from her body. Now she was looking down on the pair and saw him rest his forehead on hers, his body racked with sobs. The beautiful sword lay on the ground beside her, strewn aside as she had fallen.

Leah blinked hard to hold back her tears once, twice, three times, then squeezed her eyes closed against the barrage of feelings. And when she opened them, she found herself once again in the small bedroom with the strange, beautiful man.

"Thank you," he breathed, and held her close once again. "Thank you for returning, Fleance. I knew you would. You've saved me." With these last words, the outline of his figure seemed to glow brighter than before. At first Leah thought it was because of his happiness, but then the light seemed to widen, covering more of his body than just his outline.

"Wait! What's happening? What's happening to you?" she cried.

"Now that you have returned to me as you promised, I can go in peace." He grew brighter and brighter now, enveloped in the glow completely until only his eyes could be seen.

"Fleance," the word drifted from his effulgent form, "Always...remember me." And with a final burst of light, he was gone.

A dullness spread through the room now, seeping into her bones, reminding her of reality.

She had just met the love of her life, the love that had waited centuries for her, and now a flash of light had taken him away.

She suddenly realized that she still clutched the beautiful sword. She let go gently, expecting to hear another hissing noise. None came. The magic had left with the man. She set it gently underneath his bed, whispering, "I'll come back for you someday."

Voices echoed in the distance, coming nearer.

The tour group. She cracked the door slightly and waited for the group to pass before slipping behind them.

"...and this is the room of Prince Banquo. It's been said that his spirit remains, waiting for his lost love to return. Bunch of rubbish if you ask me," the tour guide called playfully, receiving a few chuckles from the group.

Prince Banquo, Leah thought, and smiled to herself. Her mother would still call her a dreamer; her father would call her a slacker. But now, Leah knew, she would call herself a savior.