The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series

by Chautona Havig

  Noises became torments for him. The cracking of a log in the fireplace made him jump; a dog howled outside sending fresh shivers down his spine. From the scurrying of a mouse in the corner to the imaginary sounds that his mind conjured from the fear in his heart.

  A rattle outside the window nearly made him jump out of his skin. He swallowed, choking on his dry mouth. Was that a shadow? How could there be a shadow when there was no moon? There it was again. David stood and shook himself. “It’s just the wind. Calm down. You’re acting like a little girl,” he muttered to himself.

  Eager to focus on something, anything to keep his mind from wandering to greater fearsome heights, he rose and began chopping vegetables. They might as well make a soup with the meat from the chicken. To keep the silence at bay, he sang. Sumer Is Icumen In was a new song to him and perfectly in season; it was sprightly, comforting, and drowned out the strange sounds that persisted on invading the cottage.

  Philip stirred again, this time blinking. “Wha—”

  “Need another drink?” David would do nearly anything to ensure the young man got better.

  “Where is she?”

  Now the lad is crying for his modor. Can this get any worse? David gave a sad glance at the door as if hoping the others would return and decide what to do. “Where is who, Philip? Want some water?”

  “I hear her singing.” The boy forced himself to a sitting position. He blinked slowly as he glanced around, trying to orient himself.

  “That was me,” David admitted. His irritation had to have been evident in his voice. Since when did he sound like a woman?

  “Not you. Can’t you hear that? Listen.”

  David did hear it. A high-pitched song seemed to float as if on the wind. After a few seconds, he realized it was probably just that—the wind whistling through tree branches or humming over a jug outside.

  Philip seemed to have new life in him, though. He watched the door eagerly as if waiting for something. David couldn’t help but fear that “something” was an angel of death.

  “Look outside! Open the door, please!”

  Anxious to quiet Philip, David dropped the carrots he’d been breaking into the pot and wiped his hands on his tunic. “All right, all right. There’s nothing out there unless maybe the others are home. Can’t see how you’d hear them before me, though.”

  With the bar shoved out of the way, David opened the door, allowing the cold, damp air of the night to enter the cottage. He glanced over his shoulder to ensure that Philip saw the empty doorway. “See, there’s nothing there.” However, when he turned back to shut and bar the door, something stepped into the tiny shaft of light that emanated from the cottage.

  Chapter 25

  Beneath Dove’s Cloak

  The last mile of tunnels before Dolfin reached Oxford seemed to take forever. His calves ached, his lungs burned, and his heart pounded so loudly he could hear it in his ears. He wanted to stop, to rest. What could an extra half hour matter? No one would know. He’d run faster than ever in the past few hours.

  The Mæte were deceptively swift runners. With endurance that any man would envy and a quickness that compensated for the shortness of their legs, the runners in the tunnels beneath England covered ground in a fraction of the time it would take their counterparts above ground to traverse.

  At last, he began to see familiar faces. He was his king’s favorite runner, often trusted with important and sensitive messages—like this one. Just seeing the looks of admiration in the faces of some of Oxford’s runners made continuing much easier. A young lady, one he’d seen often on his trips, smiled at him as he passed, inspiring him to kick up his speed a little just when he wanted most to stop.

  The entrance to King Engelard’s chambers was guarded as usual. While he gasped and panted, guzzling the water the motherly women of Oxford brought him, Dolfin waited for entrance to Engelard’s room. It was much richer and finer than the king’s room of his community, but then it was an older settlement and had a rich mine to work from without the hindrance of an irritable dragon.

  The large tapestry parted and a fierce-looking guard held it aside for him. “Engelard is pleased to welcome you.”

  “Thank you.” He never really knew what to say to the guards. He knew his messages were often an interruption, but they weren’t his idea!

  “Dolfin, you’ve brought news?”

  Engelard was the oldest man he’d ever seen. According to legend, he was the oldest of all the Mæte save a great, great, grandmother near the border of Scotland. The dwarf had the large flat nose that defined the look of his people—the men anyway. His beard reached his feet and was stark white. He wore robes of rich hues and fabrics that made him seem even more imposing.

  “I have— from Waleron. He asks that I give you this.” Dolfin passed the letter from the leader of the Wynnewood Mæte.

  The silence seemed to echo around him as he waited for Engelard to read the letter. His breathing, the shuffle of his feet, and even the shifting of the guard’s hand all sounded unreasonably loud to him. After what seemed an age, Engelard folded the paper and slipped it in an unseen pocket. “You know the contents of the letter?”

  He nodded. “Yes. We were told to memorize it in case something happened to it.”

  “Do you know what Ganelon thought of this—this— request?”

  “He feared it was too dangerous, but he said he would not refuse Waleron. He said Waleron would never make a request such as that without extreme provocation.” Dolfin swallowed hard. “He told me I was to volunteer to go if my strength was with me.”

  “And will you?”

  “How long before we would leave?”

  The king glanced at his guard before answering. “Some hours yet. It’s still full day out there.”

  “With some food and a little rest, I’ll be ready to go.”

  “Tonight isn’t necessary. Tonight you rest.” Engelard pointed to the guard. “Gobin will escort you to the gathering room. Sleep tonight. If we don’t find this child tonight, we’ll need you tomorrow. You need to be fresh, though. Trying to go tonight will just ensure that mistakes happen.”

  Though the words stung a little, Dolfin was grateful. He followed Gobin through the familiar tunnels to the wide circular gathering room that was the hub of all Mæte communities. There he found himself almost instantly surrounded with good food, plenty of ale, and children clamoring for stories of his run. As he ate, he told of running through tunnels with his little torch, dashing over ruts in the floors. He explained how the dirt-packed ones were easier on the legs than the hard, stone-inlaid ones, and how fast his time had been.

  From the corner of the room where an archway led to the various family chambers, that same young woman watched him. An unconscious swagger entered both his voice and his step as he demonstrated for the children. A giggle reached him in time to make him flush. He was being ridiculous. The Grand Fete was coming soon, and that was soon enough to get to know the pretty girl with laughing eyes.

  “Well, I need to rest. I’ve been running for hours. I’m tired.”

  Just outside the North Gate of Oxford, Dove waited. She listened to every rustle, every bark, every cry in the night. The previous night she’d wandered through the streets of Oxford listening, waiting, but hearing nothing. The map had done her no good. She’d found an abandoned hut at the edge of the city within the city gates. So, with nothing else to do, she’d wandered the streets, listening, occasionally asking questions and then dashing off into crowds before someone could ask who she was and what she wanted.

  Late that second night, she’d been stunned to find a Mæte at her elbow, beckoning her to follow. In a secluded corner, hidden from the watchful eyes of the guardsmen, the man told her to meet them outside the North Gate the following evening. No matter how she’d pleaded, the little man had been adamant. “You cannot get out of the city without being seen. Tomorrow, be out before the gates are shut. We will come to you. We know where the boy is, and Walero
n asked us to show you.”

  So she waited, anxious to hear again from the little people who could help her find her friend. Nervousness made her jittery, and despite stern self-admonitions, Dove picked at her cloak, kicked at rocks, and jerked her head at the slightest sound.

  A tap on her arm nearly caused her to scream. Heart racing, she glanced sideways and saw the familiar outline of a Mæte. “Come with me. I will show you where he is.” He took a few steps and hesitated. “We think he is ill.”

  “Where,” she whispered, “should I take him once we get out of there?”

  “You will take him to the other side of the church. Several of our men wait for you there. Tomorrow they’ll help you sneak into the town with him, but you must get him out alone. We cannot be seen.”

  “I fear I may have to be.”

  “Dolfin’s note says you are perfectly harmless to us.” The doubt in his voice was hard to miss.

  “I cannot harm you even if I wanted to. I’m no different than any child you see on the streets except that I look frightful.”

  “Come with me then. Hold onto my cloak so you don’t stumble. Without a moon, it’ll be hard to see anything tonight.”

  With one hand full of his cloak, Dove stumbled after him, nervous at the idea of leading Philip away from pursuing captors without light. He led her along a road, over a stone fence, and across a field and then lit a torch. “It’s over there—that house by the church. He’s in there, and if his captors are to be believed, he’s sick.” The man pointed to the other side of the church. “Get your friend to that side and I’ll be there with the others to help you get him to a safe place for the night. It won’t be comfortable, but it’ll be warm enough.”

  She nodded. “I should put out the light before I get within sight of any windows, right? Are there any on this side?”

  “No, there’s only one window on the opposite side from this one next to the door.”

  It took a couple of minutes to decide what to do. At last, she straightened her hood, grabbed the torch, and set off toward the little house, thanking the little man for his help. Everything could go wrong after this. Everything.

  Hacking coughs greeted her as she reached the back of the house. Philip sounded terrible. With the torch driven firmly in the ground, Dove crept around the sides of the house and listened near the door. As hard as she tried to listen, she heard little but Philip’s coughs and a whimper.

  Her heart sank as the door opened. She wasn’t ready. Not yet. A man stepped outside and glanced around before he closed the door and barred it. Dove’s eyes rose heavenward. “Oh, I AM. We need You now. I can’t do this alone. I am so scared.”

  Singing from inside the cottage gave her an idea. If the man could sing, so could she. Once he was distracted with helping Philip, she’d sing. Philip would recognize her voice, surely. Somehow, they’d get that door open, and this time, Dove would be ready.

  The moment came. Immediately, she began singing in the high, eerie voice she used when charming the dragons. With each line, her voice grew stronger and richer, but it did no good. The door stayed barred. If she had to, she’d knock and try to sound like a man, but she knew the chances were slim that such a crazy plan would succeed.

  Then suddenly, as if her prayer was answered, the creak of the door bar sent a discordant note into her song. This was it. She stepped directly into the path of the door and waited. The door opened and she took a deep breath, raising her hands to pull back her hood.

  Philip couldn’t believe it when he heard the familiar sounds of Dove’s melody. At first, David ignored his attempts to hear more, but at last, his pleas sent the man to the door. What happened next seemed as if part of a dream. David opened the door, and there stood Dove as if coming to make a call. Before he could call out, she threw back her hood and screamed.

  In all the different ideas he’d ever considered, the vision before him was as far from anything he could have imagined. She looked wild, crazy. White hair stuck out on all sides of her head, matted and with some of the ends curled. In the light of the fire, her eyes seemed to flicker and glow red. Her skin, ghastly pale, was nearly translucent.

  Before he could warn her, she screamed and rushed at David, brandishing a torch. The man, panicked and horrified at the sight of what seemed to be a ghost in a dark cloak, backed away until he tripped over a bench and struck his head on the corner of the table. Blood spurted from the wound, but the man’s eyes went glassy before he slipped into unconsciousness.

  The next few minutes were a blur. Philip tried to scramble to his feet, but they refused to hold him. Dove was at his side in an instant. “Come on, Philip. Hold onto me. We have to get out of here before he wakes again. Come on!”

  As she spoke, Dove dragged him up from the floor, draped his arm around her shoulder, and half-hung the blanket he’d been using over his shoulder. “Hold onto that.” His fingers clutched the fabric desperately. Then, as each second turned into minutes, he stumbled along with her, surprised when she shut the door behind her.

  “Why—”

  “You don’t want it to look suspicious if the others return, do you?”

  “I can’t walk all the way back to town, Dove. I just can’t.”

  “Stop whining. We’ll have help once we get to the other side of that church.”

  Philip’s answer was drowned by a fresh wave of coughs. Despite his weight on her, Dove dragged him across the yard and around the back of the church. There, four Mæte waited with a stretcher. “He does sound quite ill,” the little man who had guided her to the house admitted.

  “He is, but he’ll be better with some fresh air and good food. That cottage was the stuffiest thing I’ve ever been in.”

  “Get on the stretcher. We have to go.” Once Philip was stretched out, the little man pointed to Dove. “Now, cover him as if he were dead. If he coughs, pretend it’s you.”

  “I suppose I’m supposed to cough without moving,” Philip added dryly.

  “It would help, but we’ll try to cover it. Just go! We don’t have much time.”

  The trek would have been easier in the moonlight, but the advantage to having the darkness on their side couldn’t be denied. Their little party interested the guards, but not enough to leave their posts for what must have appeared to be removing a highly infectious body from somewhere. It was nearly a mile from the church before the little men stopped and pointed. “See that hovel? Stay there until morning, and then get him to town. He needs a physician.”

  Dove nearly dragged Philip into the small hut, extinguishing the light as they entered. She made a pallet on the floor with her blanket and then tucked his around him. Her flask, full of ale from a street vendor, helped quench the raging thirst of her fevered friend. “I wasn’t sure I’d find you. You weren’t where Jakys said you’d be.”

  “Jakys sent you here? How’d you manage to—”

  “Shh. I’ll tell you all about it. You listen. There are tunnels that connect our Mæte to other colonies of them. They have runners that send messages back and forth, and the Oxford people heard of someone connected to Wynnewood being kidnapped, so they sent news to Waleron.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “I don’t think we were supposed to know, but Waleron is still grateful. He sent Jakys and Baldric to my cottage one night…”

  All through the night, Dove told of her adventures, how she’d left the village without a word, traveled along the coast, essentially stealing to keep herself fed, and then about the three men who had frightened her after she’d turned east from Liverpool. “Philip, I don’t understand why he didn’t run. You saw me! You saw how that man that had you reacted. That’s how everyone reacts, but this man almost seemed as if I looked familiar. I think he knows someone like me.”

  Between coughs, Philip asked questions and finally said, “I think, Dove, you have seen an angel. I think he protected you.”

  “Why me? That makes no sense. Why would an angel ever consider—”

&
nbsp; “Think about it, Dove. The verse says that ‘many have entertained angels unawares.’ I think the angel was helping you to get to me. Why, I’m not sure, but it seems to make sense. He found you twice. The first time, he didn’t attack you or run which helped you trust him when the next time came. You knew he wasn’t afraid. Fear is what makes people lash out at you.”

  She didn’t speak. A good half hour passed with Dove lost in thought as she tried to take in Philip’s words. It seemed too fantastical to be true, but her only other idea was even more preposterous. “That makes more sense than my idea.”

  “What was your idea?”

  “That I look like my mother and he knew her. I thought maybe he recognized me because of her, but it was so dark and there was only the light of the fire to see by. That is crazy.”

  “Well, it’s possible,” Philip mused. “I mean, why couldn’t it be that?”

  “Because I think your idea, as odd as it is, is much more logical.”

  “I never thought I’d see the day when you considered the interference of angels in your life to be logical.”

  Again, several minutes passed before she spoke. “I’ve been talking a lot with I AM—praying, really. Do you think He listens to me?”

  “I do.”

  “I think He answered my prayer. I was so scared, Philip. I knew I’d have to throw back my hood and—”

  “And what?”

  Dove shrugged with a deliberate air of nonchalance. “And I thought you might refuse to come with me, but you didn’t.”

  “That’s just silly. Why wouldn’t I go with my friend who traveled hundreds of miles to rescue me?”

  “You saw me, Philip. You know why.”

  It was Philip’s turn not to answer. At last, he shrugged. “I can’t remember what is real and what isn’t. I’m not sure this is real. It seems like you’re here and talking to me. I think I remember you giving me a drink, but then everything blurs and I’m not certain anymore.”