The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series

by Chautona Havig

  Someone had been in the cave, probably eating bread and honey. That person dropped the cloth that covered the food. The cloth wasn’t very dirty for having been lying on a cave floor. The snow might have packed against the opening of the cave during the blizzard, keeping the cold air out. Perhaps that person wouldn’t have frozen to death if they had blankets with which to keep warm and no cold air blasting inside. Then the gut-wrenching question forced itself into Philip’s heart. If that person was Dove, why was she not home by now? Where was she? What could have happened—

  He closed his eyes and prayed with a fervency he’d never felt in his life. To his mind, there was only one answer to that question, but he was unwilling to entertain the notion that Dove had become the dragon’s midwinter’s snack. Surely, there’d be some evidence of her demise. She charmed the dragon at Nicor. If there was one nearby, wouldn’t she be able to charm it as well?

  When he opened his eyes, Philip saw the most amazing thing he could ever have imagined. Near the tree line of the forest, several children led Dove away from the cliffs. She stumbled alongside them, willingly, and then waited as if playing a game. He was so stunned by her appearance and grateful for answered prayer, Philip didn’t move, didn’t question. Instead, he watched curiously, as they talked for some time before the children raced back to the cliffs and disappeared.

  Just as he thought he’d found his voice, Philip saw the oddest thing of all. Dove reached into her hood and pulled out a piece of cloth. They blindfolded her? he thought as he scrambled for the stone steps.

  Chapter 13

  Dove’s Return

  Dove stiffened as she heard the king insist he must have the horn of a unicorn. Waleron saw the child’s eyes flash a fiery red and shuddered before he saw the torch reflected in their depths— a coolness grew between them. Then, she relaxed. “Who is ill?”

  “What?”

  “You need that horn enough to demand it of me. You want me to do this for you, and you will insist that I do it, somehow. Why? Who is ill?”

  The king’s head dropped into his hands. “My daughter, Reynilda— Merewyn’s modor. She has an ailment…”

  Dove waited for a few seconds, and then whispered, “Something she was born with like me or…”

  “No, it is a skin disease. We have to keep her separate from everyone to protect us. It is very lonely for her. I need that horn.” The little old man’s eyes seemed to pierce through Dove, and this time he did not shrink at the glow of red that seemed to emanate from hers.

  “And if I fail to secure the horn for you?”

  “You will not fail. We will ensure you do not.” Confused, she started to ask how, but he continued. “I am sending Grifon, Merewyn, and Baldric and a few others to lead you from this place. Do not seek to find us. We will find you.”

  “Before I go, can you tell me what is wrong with your daughter? What does it look like? How does it affect her? What makes it worse or better?”

  “Why do you ask? You will get the unicorn’s horn, and then she will be well. We will get enough of the horns that our people will never suffer like this again.”

  Something about Waleron’s demeanor unsettled Dove, but she wasn’t sure why. She shrugged of the unease and addressed the question instead. “Because Bertha knows much about healing many things. She has prevented the ugly sores my kind get with her wisdom. I could ask—”

  “Ask, but I want the horn. I will have the horn, and you will capture it for me. Go.”

  Summarily dismissed, Dove slipped her hood back over her head and followed Merewyn from the chambers to where Jakys, Baldric, and Grifon waited. “I am to go home.”

  They took her to a well-furnished and attractive room, brought her a bit of food and ale, and then left her with Merewyn as her “companion” for the night. She knew what that meant. Merewyn was there to alert guards outside her door if Dove tried to escape. Of course, her presence was highly ineffectual once the nervous young woman finally fell asleep on her bed by the fire. Dove tossed about on the comfortable mattress until she too allowed exhaustion to overtake her.

  Unaware of the time in the caverns, Dove didn’t know how long she slept. When she awoke, breakfast sat beside her bed on a tray, and Merewyn brushed and braided her hair on the other side of the room. “Why do you do that? Why do women braid their hair?”

  “Why do you not? Your hair is so wild. I think it scared me even before I saw your face—” Stunned by her rudeness, Merewyn dropped her head and shook it, embarrassed. “I am sorry. That—”

  “Is simple truth. People are terrified of my face. Why would you pretend otherwise? People braid to tame their hair?” The idea seemed preposterous to her. Bertha kept her hair short as a child and only recently had it grown to bounce around her shoulders after a good washing. As much as it spent rubbing against the wool of her hood, most of the time her hair stood out away from her head, terribly matted until her next washing. The time it took to brush out the snarls had tempted Dove to request that Bertha cut it off again.

  For a moment, Dove felt the unfamiliar urge to ask another person to help her. She wanted to know how to braid. She wanted to test the idea that a braid would keep her unruly hair under control, but she couldn’t gather the courage. Instead, she decided to ask Philip or even Aurelia to show her. That was a much more comfortable thought.

  “Eat your food. They will come for us soon.” Merewyn stood, gave Dove a slight smile, and hurried from the room. As Dove watched the tiny woman disappear through the curtain, she wondered if Merewyn might have sensed her desire to learn and wanted to escape before she could ask.

  When she presented herself to the group of escorts that stood waiting outside her door, Grifon produced a strip of soft silky cloth. “I have to do this. I hope you understand.”

  Nodding, Dove tied it around her eyes, barely tipping the cloth of her cloak back so Jakys could see it was securely fastened and fully covering her eyes. He handed her the blankets she’d taken from the cottage days ago— she didn’t know how many. She had little trouble following them through the tunnels that led from the little world of the Mæte at first, but as they drew further from the heart of their home, the passageways grew rougher and the steep descent made her stumble. Grifon on one side and Baldric on the other, kept one hand on her at all times, ready to help her if she started to fall.

  Each minute that passed brought lower temperatures with it. She found herself unfolding one of the blankets and wrapping it around her shoulders to add warmth. “We’re almost there,” Jakys murmured. I will not lead you into the forest with the others. I will stay here and keep guard. Come back to us at the next full moon. Someone will watch for you at the cave where I found you. If you tell anyone that we are here and they seek us out, we will find you and your friends. We will kill you all. Keep our secret.”

  What Dove heard in his voice, that Jakys didn’t actually say, was how much he didn’t want to speak so cruelly to her. He was under orders to threaten her into protecting the secret of the Mæte. She whispered, “I must ask a question, but…”

  With swift understanding, the little man sent the others several feet away while they talked. “Ask,” he insisted.

  “I understand your orders, Jakys, but I cannot capture the unicorn without Philip’s help.”

  “Bring Philip to the cave. Do not tell him about us. I will see for myself before I allow him to know of us. There may be a way to do this without him.”

  “Why is Waleron trusting me? What prevents me from going straight to Lord Morgan, telling him all about you, and sending them here to wipe you out for threatening Philip and others under the lord’s protection as Earl of Wynnewood?”

  “Because you understand us. You know what it is like to seek protection from the persecution of those who do not understand what is different. Our people fear you even though they also would be feared simply because we are different.”

  Jakys words made sense, and a new thought occurred to Dove as she listened to him ta
lk. Broðor Clarke had once said that I AM, the God of Heaven and Earth, had made her exactly as He had and for His purpose and glory. If that was true, it was also true that He had made the little people who lived beneath and behind the Cliffs of Sceadu, to glorify Him as well. It was a terrifying and yet exhilarating thought. If only she could be sure it was true.

  That thought sent an overwhelming flood of unfamiliar emotions through her heart. She was unaccustomed to the sensation of missing someone, but Dove missed her friend more than she’d realized. She’d grown accustomed to talking over her thoughts and debating questions until she understood them even if she didn’t agree. She appreciated that even when she expressed doubt in Philip’s god he either had an answer or promised to find it for her. It was the first time she truly understood what it meant to have and to be a friend.

  “Goodbye, Dove. We will see you in a fortnight—”

  “In a few days. You need to see Philip in the cave.”

  She felt him shift uncomfortably. “Yes, you are right. I will see you then. Remember your promise and my warning. I would not like to see you or any in the village harmed. They would blame you.”

  As he spoke, Dove realized the truth of his words. If anything suspicious happened to Philip or anyone else in Wynnewood, she would be the first to be blamed. There had been times Bertha had protected her from the stones of angry farmers and shepherds for illness and pestilence. She’d sustained terrible bruises and twice been bitten by dogs set on her by terrified owners who blamed her for whatever evils entered their home. She must not fail this charge. These people deserved their privacy and safety.

  “I will keep your secret. I will do as you say. If I do not come, it is not because I did not try.”

  With those words, Dove turned from the little gray-bearded man, and walked to where six other dwarves waited for her to follow them out of the caverns and into the woods. She felt the brisk breeze and the sharp bite of the air in her nose and sneezed. They all stepped away from her for a second, and then led her farther away from the cliffs, Grifon holding one arm, Baldric the other. She immediately heard the song of the wind in the trees as she stepped into the mud-soaked earth and away from the cliffs. The fresh air nearly took her breath away. As she took great gulps of it, she realized just how stifling the tunnels and caverns were underground. Out here, the scent of damp pine, the sounds of the tree branches creaking in the wind, and the hint of salt in the air told her that this was where she belonged.

  Grifon stood on his toes and whispered, “Wait until you know we’ve gone back into the cliffs before you take off the cloth. Do not turn around until you’re far from here. Waleron—”

  “I understand. Thank you, Grifon. Thank you.”

  Without another word, the tiny people, the Mæte, raced away from her, disappearing into the cliffs much more quickly than Dove realized. She stood, absorbing the sensation of nature around her, and then reached up to pull the blindfold from her eyes. The ground was muddy, and under the trees, patches of snow remained, but to her amazement, most of it was gone.

  “It must have rained,” she mused aloud, as she tried to walk without sinking ankle-deep into mud bogs. The walk was slow and tedious, trying to avoid the filth, and she didn’t get far before she heard something. Afraid, she flattened herself against a tree and glanced around her. Had Jakys or one of the others remembered something else? The sound came again. This time, it was closer and something about it was familiar, but the wind distorted it.

  “Dove!”

  Philip. She sagged in relief. It was Philip, and everything would be all right now. Why she felt that, she didn’t know, but she did. There was comfort in the familiar. Though her sojourn into the home of the Mæte had been exciting at times, Dove was accustomed to constancy— predictability. Her routines were set, and she considered her friendship with Philip enough of a deviation from it to last her many years. The sound of him crashing through the woods, stumbling over branches and calling her name seemed to herald to all of nature, “Your life will not change. All is well. Things are already back to normal.”

  Chapter 14

  Changes

  “Where have you been?”

  Had she not recognized his voice, Dove would have run from the sight of the boy, thrashing his way through the forest to reach her. Philip was caked in mud, as were his shoes, gloves, and clothes. There was mud on his face mingled with blood, and before she could brace herself, he stumbled into her, hugging her fiercely before he dropped his arms, embarrassed.

  “I—”

  “Everyone thinks you’re dead!” he interrupted rudely.

  “Well—”

  Once again, he cut her off before she could explain. “Lord Morgan sent knights out looking for you, although I don’t think they looked very hard.”

  Dove hesitated, and then tried to speak again. Her relief was fast turning into amused annoyance. “I—”

  “What took you so long? The—”

  Stunned, Philip watched as Dove turned away from him and started toward home once more. “Where are you going?”

  She didn’t reply. Without even a hint that she heard him, Dove continued on her way, smiling to herself beneath her hood. How long would it take him to realize he hadn’t allowed her the chance to answer his questions?

  Storming after her, Philip began ranting. “I can’t believe this! Broðor Clarke is praying for you night and day, Lord Morgan and Aurelia are worried sick, I’ve been out in the cold and the wet searching, and you just ignore me when I finally do find you.”

  “You—”

  “Liam almost died—” This time, Philip was cut off mid-sentence, but not by words. Dove’s laughter rang out through the trees, frightening the winter birds. “What!”

  She opened her mouth to answer, and saw that he had more to say. This time, she covered his mouth with her gloved fingers and shook her head. “Well, I’ve tried to answer you, but every time I do, you keep talking or interrupt me. It’s like talking to a girl!”

  “That’s an insult,” he growled.

  “So is that!”

  He stood glaring at her. She did the same. While Dove watched the emotions swirl in Philip’s eyes like waves on a stormy sea, he felt her irritation float over him like clouds obscuring the sun. At last, he dropped his head and whispered, “I thought you were dead. I didn’t want to, but I did. It was like losing Ellie—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  All the worry and angst that had built in the past four days slowly evaporated with those two words. “Where were you?”

  “In the caves.”

  Philip pulled a cloth from the pocket inside his cloak. “I prayed this was yours. It was the first time I thought my hope wasn’t hopeless.”

  “That’s n—” she stopped herself. This was going to be very uncomfortable. Dove wasn’t accustomed to having secrets. Even as she thought it, she realized the absurdity. Her entire life was a secret. She wanted to ponder the difference, but Philip stood before her, holding the cloth in his hand, a confused look on his face. “Where did you find it?”

  “In the cave at the cliffs. I hoped that meant you were all right. I sat there, trying to decide what to do or where to go next, when I saw you come out with those children. Why did they blindfold you? I was so surprised!”

  Fear slammed into Dove’s heart. He’d seen them. She had to keep her word, and she had to keep Philip from questioning her until she could talk to Jakys. Would he trust her? He was already so upset. “Philip, I—”

  “Did they hurt you? I’ll—”

  “No, Philip, they didn’t hurt me. I—” She struggled for the right words. “I can’t tell you about them. Not yet. I can’t—” She leaned against the nearest tree and tried to think. Philip watched her closely. She could see in his eyes, his stance, even the way he set his jaw that he didn’t believe her. “Truly, Philip. They didn’t hurt me. But—” She stumbled over her words again. “I can’t tell you for… a while. I know that’s ridiculous, but I pro
mised.”

  “Why would you do that? What are you talking about?” He stared at her for several moments before he grabbed her arm and tugged toward the river. “Come on. I think you’re worn out. We’ll talk to Bertha about it when you’ve rested.”

  “No!” Frantic, Dove whirled and pounded one little fist on his chest for emphasis. “You will not say a word to anyone about what you saw. You found me in the woods. That is true. You don’t need to lie, but you must not mention those—” if she called them children, it would be a lie, “I was with. Do you understand me?”

  “Dove, you are acting very strangely.”

  “Do you trust me?” Her voice was unusually quiet, even for her.

  “Well…” Normally, Philip would have said yes in an instant, but his little friend’s behavior was quite odd.

  “How about for three days? Will you promise me not to talk to anyone about it for three days?” After I’ve had a bath, some food, some good sleep…” She allowed herself to relax a little and it showed in her tone. “Then we can talk?”

  This much he could agree to, so Philip nodded. “I guess…”

  “So, you said Liam almost died. Does that mean he’ll make it?”

  As they ambled through the forest, growing filthier with every step, Philip told her about the storm, about seeing Bertha with the pot, and about his time at Wynnewood Castle. She laughed at the chagrin of Lord Morgan’s knights when he overheard them questioning his kindness to Philip, sighed over Lady Aurelia’s skill with a needle, and rejoiced to hear that Liam was on the mend. At the news of Liam’s newfound inner-strength, she shook her head sadly.

  “I do not like the way things are.”

  “What do you mean?” Philip didn’t understand her again.

  “I think Liam should be able to learn things— things like you do— but he won’t get that chance. His fæder is a baker. He will be taught to bake because it is a good living and a respectable one.”