The Annals of Wynnewood
Chautona Havig
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The events and people in this book are purely fictional, and any resemblance to actual ‘creatures’ or medieval villages is purely circumstantial. Furthermore, while I kept the story as authentic to thirteenth century life as I could, I did take liberties and do not apologize for them. England was infused with Christianity by the time of this tale, but I chose to keep the little corner of northern England fictionally known as “Wynnewood” free from conversion by the Catholic Church for my own purposes.
In addition, the names of Morgan and Wynne are traditionally considered Welsh, not English, and therefore are another stretch of my literary imagination.
However, I was surprised at the large number of myths surrounding the era. Bathing and cleanliness were much more valued, even among the more common people than is usually assumed. I was also surprised to discover that piracy was not restricted to Viking invaders, as I’d imagined. Lucky for me!
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Shadows & Secrets
Chautona Havig
Copyright 2010 Chautona Havig
Kindle Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Chautona Havig lives in an oxymoron, escapes into imaginary worlds that look startlingly similar to ours and writes the stories that emerge. An irrepressible optimist, Chautona sees everything through a kaleidoscope of It’s a Wonderful Life sprinkled with fairy tales. Find her at chautona.com and say howdy—if you can remember how to spell her name.
All Scripture references are from the King James Version
Dedication
Dedicated with love to Euphemia and Stephen— the two dearest bestekids in the world.
I also must thank Craig Worrell for his amazing map. Not only did he capture my imagination and make it come alive on paper, he helped me see flaws in my understanding and perspective, gave me invaluable background information, and didn’t laugh too hard when I somehow reversed east and west in my rough sketch. Thanks to Craig, I have so much more richness and history to add to the next book, and I hope he’ll be back to draw a more detailed map of the Sceadu Cliffs for book two of the Annals of Wynnewood. Thank you, Craig—and Michele, for introducing me to him.
Pronunciation Guide
Broðor (BRO-thor)- brother
Ciele (CHILL-leh)- chill
Ge-sceaft (jeh-SAFt)- creature
Wyrm (WEUhrm)- dragon
Hælan (HA-lahn)- healer
Holt (HOLE-t)- forest
Heolstor (Hay-OL-store)- hiding place
Sceadu (SAD-oo)- shadow
Nicor (NEE-core)- Sea monster
Modor (MOE-dore)- mother
Fæder (FA*-dare)- father
*æ is a as in cat or rat
Note: There is controversy over the correct pronunciation of certain letters. I found opposing pronunciation guides and chose to go with what seemed most consistent. I apologize for any errors.
Contents
The Annals of Wynnewood
Dedication
Pronunciation Guide
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Cloaked in Secrets
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue for Sensible Readers
Epilogue for Connoisseurs of Mush
Everard
Chapter One
Chautona Havig’s Books
Chapter 1
The Ge-sceaft
The treetops swayed high above the mists along the edge of the forest known as Wynne Holt. Five boys, all in their twelfth year, lay on their stomachs peering through the grasses of the headland near The Point. They watched as the cloaked Creature, the Ge-sceaft, wandered through the shifting fog that intermittently smothered the field ahead of them. Its shadow faded and resurfaced as it roamed through the grasses; and at times, eerie noises— almost like singing— drifted to the edge of the cliff from where they watched.
Angus, the oldest and brawniest of the lads, began telling tales that terrified and delighted the others. “It has horns, it does. That’s why it wears the hood so far over its face. The horns aren’t at the back; they’re near the front, and it uses them to tear up its food like an animal uses claws and fangs.”
“What does it eat?
” The other boys turned to stare at Liam, snickering at the tremor in his voice.
“Small animals, of course,” Angus replied with exaggerated patience. “It just rips open a rabbit—”
“Look, it’s looking this way!” Philip had listened to enough of Angus’ stories to know there was likely more fiction than truth to them. “Do you think it sees us?”
“D-d-do you th-think it eats children?” Liam’s voice now dropped to a strangled, stammered whisper.
“Well maybe babies—”
Philip’s patience evaporated. “Oh, that’s a pile of fresh dung. That Creature is probably as wary of us as we are of it; and it certainly doesn’t eat babies. Broðor Clarke would be ashamed of you for scaring Liam like that, Angus.”
The other boys gaped at Philip with something akin to awe. Few of their friends ever had the courage to stand up to Angus; those who did usually paid a price for it. Liam, amazed at his friend’s boldness, forgot to be insulted. Philip stood in the knee-high grasses, showing himself to the Creature, if it was looking, and crossed his arms with feigned nonchalance. His brother had once assured him that boys such as Angus looked for fear or nervousness, and without them, they rarely pounced.
“If you’re so brave, why don’t you go talk to it? See if it can be tamed.”
Philip did not take the bait. He allowed all the disdain he felt for Angus’ silly fables to show in his voice. “It’s obviously tamed; it lives with the midwife.”
“Everyone knows that midwives are little more than sorceresses,” protested a scrawny, freckled, redheaded boy.
“Oh Aubrey, that is ridiculous.” Philip refused to surrender so quickly. As much as he feared the mystery surrounding the Creature, he didn’t want to show it.
“Then why do more babies survive when the modor uses the midwife?” Aubrey’s tone suggested that he was parroting someone. Philip guessed it was his brother.
“If they were truly sorceresses, why don’t they save all babies then? Why only save some if they have such powers?” Philip retorted just as strongly. “Broðor Clarke would be shocked at you, accusing a baby-catcher of such evil powers.”
“Oh listen,” Angus mocked derisively. “The pet can’t come up with a reasonable argument, so he hides behind the minster’s cloak.” Angus cracked a knuckle for effect. “Do you think I care what a man who lives in stories will do to me for speaking truth?”
The other boys listened, interested, as the debate raged. Behind a nearby tree, a brown-cloaked man listened, nodding at Philip’s words while frowning at the foolish ideas of the other boys. He peeked through a fork in the tree as he heard Angus issue a new challenge.
“I dare you, since you think you know so much, to introduce yourself to the Creature and then come back—unharmed.”
“I’ll go, but I won’t follow it into Wyrm Forest.”
“Coward.”
Philip spun on his heel and glared at Angus. “It is foolish to wander into those woods. Cowardice has nothing to do with it.” He spoke, his voice filled with confidence until it cracked on the word “cowardice.”
Angus wasn’t sure how to respond and yet save face. “So, go before it disappears into the holt and you find an excuse to hide from there as well.”
Philip glanced down at the row of boys hidden in the grasses that separated the forest from the cliffs and walked toward the line of trees. Halfway to the woods, the mists grew thicker until the fog almost completely obscured him. At times, he appeared to have vanished from sight.
As the cloaked Creature turned and fled at the sound of his approach, the boys heard Philip call to it. “Wait! I don’t mean to hurt you. Please wait!”
Hidden beneath a fresh layer of salt-scented fog, Aubrey whistled low. “No one can say that Philip isn’t brave. He didn’t have to call out—”
“He just did that because he knew it’d make the Creature run away.”
“If the Ge-sceaft runs from a boy, it can’t be very frightening.” Walter spoke for the first time. He feared the Creature more than he’d ever admit, but now there was a way to disguise it.
“The Creature only kills under cover of darkness. Everyone knows that,” Angus asserted derisively.
“Well, it had a chance to kill under cover of the mists, and it didn’t take it,” the boy retorted.
Philip ambled back from the edge of the forest with shoulders slumped but relief in his heart. It was one thing to be an advocate for the Creature from afar but another to confront it, defenseless. “At least,” he muttered to himself, “Angus can’t say I didn’t try.”
A primrose lay crushed and upside down in the shorter grasses near the tree line, and Philip wondered at it. “It picked flowers?”
The Creature meandered along the green near the timberline of Wynne Holt. Salt air mixed with the shifting layers of fog that rolled in from the sea and obscured it from sight. It sang a simple lullaby as it wandered through the grass, picking the primroses that always bloomed first at The Point. The sward between the cliffs and Wynne Holt lay carpeted in tiny golden blossoms during the first weeks of spring. It picked all it could find to cheer their cottage until its gloved hands were full.
A twig crunched, and the Creature spun in place, looking for the sound’s origin. Children occasionally threw stones at it when it wandered too far out in the open; adults chased it away, screaming horrible things at it and making it skittish around people. It identified the source of the noise; the shape of a boy faded in and out of the mists, growing closer with each reappearance. Fearful, the Creature ran.
Heart pounding, it hesitated as the boy cried, “Wait! I don’t mean to hurt you. Please wait!”
The temptation was strong. Contrary to local legend, the Creature was harmless and lonely. The midwife, busy with her many births and acting as a pseudo-healer when people were desperate enough not to wait for Biggs the Hælan, had little time for it.
Bertha, the village midwife, had saved the Ge-sceaft from certain death, brought it to the village of Wynnewood, taught it about life and everything important to living, but her duty towards the little cloaked Creature ended there. Compassion forced her to save its life; decency kept it fed and taught it how to live. Self-preservation kept her from developing any further interest in it. The fact that Bertha housed the Creature made her suspect in the villagers’ minds, but she was unconcerned. They needed a midwife, and her skills were unparalleled.
The villagers blamed it anytime something went awry. If a pig died, a man or child was injured, or the nets came back from the sea empty, it was always the Ge-sceaft’s fault. They blamed it for bad weather, plagues, minor illnesses, and all crop failures. The sheep that disappeared during the full of the moon— it was the Creature’s work. Blessings they credited to Broðor Clarke, his God, or even the old gods that their ancestors worshiped and feared; however, all pestilence and misery was attributed to the mysterious Ge-sceaft.
The temptation to heed the boy’s plea was short-lived. Instinct overrode desire, and it fled through the Holt and into Wyrm Forest, twisting and turning between the trees. This corner of the forest was denser than all the other surrounding forests, which kept the superstitious locals out of the area. Nearly all of Wynnewood village believed that section of the woods to be dangerous and home to all manner of fearsome things, including the Creature.
It burst through the trees into a clearing. At the center of the tree-encircled meadow, the Ge-sceaft stopped running. The sun streamed through the small opening in the trees and sent a warm glow around the area. Here, the sun burned the mists off early in the day. Darting its eyes around the clearing, the Creature scanned the tree line and listened, making certain that no one followed before it threw back its hood and exposed its face to the sun. Oh, how it loved the sun’s rays warming its skin! It often felt as though the sun penetrated all the way to its bones, giving the Creature strength and vitality.
Although Bertha Newcombe warned against too much sun, believing it was unhealthy, the Ge-sceaf
t threw off its gray cape as often as possible when the bright rays of the sun could warm it. Its ever-present woolen cloaks protected it not only from the sun, but also from the view of the locals.
Finally, the Creature replaced the hood, found the trail that led to their cottage, and ambled home, its fists still full of the now wilted primroses. No smoke rose from the cottage chimney; Bertha was still gone. It retrieved an axe from pegs on the side of the cottage and took it to split logs into kindling. There were beans and lentils soaking, but they wouldn’t cook without a fire.
Just inside the door, the Creature glanced at the pegs on the wall. Bertha’s drawstring bag was gone, and the fire was banked. Another baby was coming. She’d want supper after a long day with a laboring mother. It was time to work.
Chapter 2
Wynnewood
All traces of winter had vanished, and in their place, the songs of birds, the yellow-green of the spring grasses, and the riot of wildflower colors that grew anywhere the ground wasn’t plowed, announced that spring had arrived. The peasant farmers worked in Lord Morgan’s fields, plowing and sowing, while the villagers tended their own little gardens. The road to the castle was littered with travelers coming and going.
High on a hill above the village and the coastline, Wynnewood Castle stood proudly. The original castle was nearly two hundred years old, but Lord Morgan was enlarging it on every side. Two new stone towers in back stood slightly taller than the original towers. New stonework spread wider on each side, slowly replacing the original wooden structure. The redesigned moat was unique, allowing a branch of the nearby river to keep it full and fresh as the water swirled through it, down another canal, and into the sea.
Many of the villagers, as was custom, worked for Lord Morgan or some part of his enterprise. Even the local sailors manned his lordship’s vessels as they sailed south, bringing wool from his flocks, horses from his stables, and stones and metals from his mines, returning with gold and other items. Wynnewood encompassed many miles of land along the sea and inland, (nearing the borders of Scotland at the northernmost point), several distinct forests, and all the way to the Cliffs of Sceadu.
The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series Page 1
