The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series

by Chautona Havig

  “Yes. I enjoyed my first swim the day before I was called away.”

  “Do you know how to find the Mæte?”

  The little hooded cloak shook with her head. “They found me. I saw which way they went, and I’ll try to look, but I don’t expect to find them. I don’t know if I’d risk their help anyway. It would be best to go home the way I came.”

  “Along the coast? Isn’t that a much longer route?”

  “It is, but I don’t have to worry about missing the village. At night it’s hard to follow road signs and things. From Liverpool to here was very hard, traveling at night.”

  Philip kicked a stone, frustrated. “It isn’t safe, Dove. You shouldn’t go alone. What if I came with you? I could walk with you and then take the regular road home. Lord Morgan would loan me a horse, I’m sure.”

  “You’re here to study, Philip. You need the education. How else will you be able to convince other children that I AM is the one true God?”

  “I didn’t quite succeed with you on that; why should I be able to convince anyone else?”

  “You haven’t failed with me—not yet. Sometimes I think…” Dove’s voice trailed off as she remembered the long nights of prayer and song. “I sang most of your stories. You need your education to tell me more stories. Even your children—they will want you to tell them about Solomon and Daniel.”

  “I never got to tell you the story of Daniel, did I?” He felt it. That quickening of excitement in her when Dove was eager for something. She wanted to hear Daniel’s story. “Let’s go find a quiet place and introduce you to Daniel the young Hebrew in Babylon.”

  To his surprise, Dove didn’t object. However, as they walked, a new idea formed in Philip’s mind. They settled under a sprawling oak, and she slipped her pack off to be more comfortable during the story. “Ok, tell me about Daniel.”

  “I was thinking…” He swallowed hard, praying she’d agree. “You know, Daniel lived hundreds, maybe thousands of years before Jesus.”

  “He did?” Dove relaxed against the trunk of the tree, pulled her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them. “How do we know it?”

  Philip started to explain about how they learned the dates, but he didn’t want to become sidetracked. “Well, there’s another story, even more amazing than Daniel’s and happened a little earlier—I think you’d like it.”

  Silence was his answer. He waited, trying not to encourage or pressure her to accept the suggestion, but each second that passed made him anxious. Had he put her on guard? At last, she nodded. “That is a wonderful idea. You can tell me the other story now and I will have Daniel’s story to look forward to when you return.”

  A sigh of relief escaped before he could prevent it. “Well, when Nebuchadnezzar was king of Babylon, he built an enormous statue of gold.”

  “How big? The size of a child, a man, a tree?”

  “The Bible says it was sixty cubits high.”

  Dove’s head jerked up, her hood slipping back enough that he felt as if he’d seen her. He whipped away while she reached up to adjust her hood. “You’re good to me, Philip.”

  “You don’t know how tempting it was to look. I mean, you showed yourself to a stranger—and me I guess—but now you hide again. I don’t understand.”

  “But that is why you are so good to me. If you didn’t care to see, turning away would mean nothing. You are curious and yet you give me my privacy. You are good to me, Philip.” Her voice told him her eyes were twinkling—or would have if the sun shone on them. “Now, tell me about the king and his gold statue. That must have taken a lot of gold.”

  “Well,” he continued, “I don’t know if it was pure gold or gold poured over some other metal or wood, but it did take a great quantity for either, I imagine. When it was complete, they put it up on a plain in…” Philip hesitated. “Well, anyway, they put it up and the King called for all his counselors and advisors for a dedication. Then an announcement came. When all the musical instruments began playing, everyone was to bow down to the statue and worship it.”

  “Oh!”

  “I see that you know what happened. Yes, the instruments played and everyone bowed to worship—except for three men. Their names were Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.”

  Dove’s giggle made his heart ache for home. Even with her here, listening to stories in the old way, it wasn’t the same. He wanted to be in the middle of the clearing, the sun smiling down on them and the birds in the trees unbothered by their presence. He wanted to practice his skill with a bow, chase her through the trees, across the sward, and around the point. He wanted to wave at the fishermen, and listen for the shouts telling that the men were home from sea. He ached to hear Broðor Clarke tell the stories that he now shared with his friend.

  “Philip?” Dove sounded concerned.

  “Sorry, I was just missing home. Where was I?”

  “You just told me those funny names. Shackrack and the one that sounds like ‘to bed he go.’”

  Laughing, Philip nodded. “I suppose it does sound odd to us. I’ve grown used to the Hebrew names, I suppose—except for Mephibosheth. That still makes me laugh.”

  “You’ll have to tell me about her sometime, but I want to hear about the three men who didn’t bow.” Dove’s voice grew quieter. “I don’t think you would have bowed, Philip. You are too loyal to I AM.”

  “Well, I hope I wouldn’t, but I might have. You see, anyone who did not bow was supposed to be thrown into a fiery furnace.”

  A gasp from within Dove’s hood made Philip smile. She always became so involved in his stories. “That is strange, isn’t it?”

  “What is strange?”

  “Well, I AM says that those who do not believe and obey Him will be thrown into a lake of fire—even bigger than a furnace. These men had a choice between a furnace that would kill them quickly or denying their God and a lake that would burn them forever.”

  Now Philip was frustrated. How could Dove grasp something so vividly and yet still not believe? With more self-restraint than he knew he possessed, Philip nodded and continued. “That was the problem. The king gave them another chance, really. He didn’t just toss them in the moment they were brought to him, he told them once more to bow, but the men told him they would not.”

  “How brave they were!”

  Philip’s lips twitched. She sounded like a besotted maiden mooning over a knight. It was one of those rare times when Dove was every bit the normal girl that she usually disdained. “They were. They stood before that king and said that they would not bow and worship a false god—that I AM would deliver them from the furnace and the king’s hand.”

  “Oh, like Elisha?”

  “Elijah,” he corrected. Philip thought for a moment. “I suppose they could have meant like that, but the Bible doesn’t say. It just says delivered from the king’s hand which could mean a lot of things.”

  “Go on. What happened?” Dove nearly quivered with excitement.

  “Furious, King Nebuchadnezzar ordered that the men be bound and thrown into the furnace.”

  “Oh no!”

  Without waiting to hear her next observations, Philip continued. “The furnace was so hot that the guards who threw the three men into it were consumed by it.”

  A sniffle caught Philip off guard. “What’s wrong?”

  “I thought I AM would save them. I thought they’d avoid both hells. I thought you said that Jesus paid the penalty for—well, He hadn’t done that yet, had He? I suppose that’s why they had to die. I understand now.”

  “But they didn’t die, Dove. The king was watching the furnace and stood, astonished. He said, ‘Did we not put three men, bound, into the furnace?’ And the counselors and advisors all agreed that three men were bound and tossed into it. Then the king said, ‘But I see four men in there, just walking around.’” Philip couldn’t help the excitement in his voice as he added the king’s next words. “‘…and the fourth one looks like the Son of God!’”
/>   “The Son of God? Jesus?”

  He nodded. “Yep. Jesus was in there with them.”

  Neither of them spoke for a long while. At last, Dove’s quiet voice whispered, “What happened next?”

  “The king called and told them to come out of the furnace. When they did, their hair was not singed, they had no burns, and they didn’t even smell like smoke.”

  “I bet that king figured out who the true God is.”

  Philip’s anger nearly boiled over and scalded Dove. He sat fuming as his mind threw accusation after accusation at her. Why can you see that the king would see that, but you can’t see it? Why can’t you open your eyes and your heart to the God who gave you the intellect that makes you doubt? Why must you always reject what you are commanded to accept? The words remained unspoken, but his heart hardened a little against his friend.

  “Why are you angry?”

  “I’m not.”

  The hood shook slowly. “That’s a lie, Philip. You are very angry—with me.”

  He began to deny it. His pride welled up larger and more stifling than he’d ever felt it until he thought he’d choke with the intensity of it. He couldn’t see it for the ugly pride that it was; he saw it as righteous anger. Philip was certain that Dove was deliberately hardhearted toward the Lord for reasons he couldn’t understand.

  Just as he began to protest, the truth of his heart hit him. His pride had overtaken him once again. He wasn’t angry that his friend was rejecting the one true God. He wasn’t hurt to think of his friend lost for eternity. He was frustrated and a little embarrassed that he hadn’t been able to convince her to believe. It had been three years—three and a half nearly. How long would it be? Would she ever have faith? Not if you keep pushing her away with your arrogance, Philip Ward, he scolded himself.

  “You’re right. I am angry. It’s wrong of me; please forgive me.”

  “But why, Philip. What did I say?” Before Philip could answer, Dove pulled his tunic, jerking him close and whispered, “Look behind you. See that man?”

  Philip turned, staring over his shoulder at a man walking toward them. “Yes…”

  She rose quickly, dragging him across the field. “That’s him—the one that I saw. He’s the one who acted as if he recognized me and hid me from the other men in that house.”

  “Maybe I should go ask—”

  “Let’s just go, Philip. He scares me. No one should see me and not run. He didn’t run!”

  The crazed, panicked sound in her voice confused him, but Philip raced behind her, across the fields, over a stone wall, and then toward the river where they could hide amongst the trees. Had they bothered to glance back, they would have seen the man stop, turn, and with shoulders slumped, make his way back toward the city gate. As it was, it took Philip some time to calm his terrified little friend.

  Chapter 29

  Through the Tunnels

  Darkness surrounded her, but Dove still waited near the low bridge just east of Oxford where the Mæte had disappeared the night they rescued Philip. She sang in her high, clear voice of little people—miners—who lived out of sight. After a while, she created a chorus to sing after each verse, hoping that it would bring them to her.

  The night air was cool, but her cloak was warm and the blanket she’d carried for such a long distance covered her lap as she waited. Philip had tried to convince her to let him wait with her, but it wouldn’t work. The Oxford Mæte barely trusted her as it was. If they saw him when they heard her voice, they’d never come.

  The hours crawled past so slowly that it seemed as if time stood still. The noises of the night were familiar—even comforting—but nothing sounded out of place. She was tired; her body ached to sleep, but still she sang in that almost ethereal tone. She sang of a long journey, through tunnels under the earth, skirting little communities and finally reaching Wynnewood. Dove’s song promised money from Lord Morgan and that King Waleron trusted her—they could too.

  A hand on her shoulder broke the song. Before she could turn to see who was there, a voice rasped close to her ear, “No more singing. We’ll take you to Engelard. He will decide.”

  As Dove stood to follow, her heart sank. She’d grown. Would the Mæte see her as harmless if she stood so much taller than them? Would she arrive home with her head intact?

  “Lord Morgan promised to pay—”

  “Tell Engelard.”

  A familiar dread filled her as the man and his companion handed her a blindfold. They led her, stumbling over unfamiliar ground, to a small building, and from there, Dove couldn’t tell what happened. She followed the men, holding onto one of their tunics, the other hand held overhead to try to prevent her forehead from slamming into low places in the ceiling of the tunnels.

  Unlike in Wynnewood, the distance was short, but she did feel like she was spinning in circles. They passed others who whispered, but Dove couldn’t hear or understand what they said. She stood near a doorway, her hand resting on a tapestry, and waited as her guide went to speak to his king.

  “Come with me.” One of the escorts led her into the grand rooms of the king and disappeared behind the tapestry again.

  Once in the king’s chambers, Dove grew nervous. He would expect her to remove her hood and that would likely mean he would refuse her request—or worse. A prayer formed in her mind before she realized she’d done it.

  “You may remove your blindfold.” Engelard’s voice was much higher than any man’s she’d ever heard—he almost sounded like a woman.

  She pulled it off and held it out to her escort, but the king shook his head. “Remove the hood. It is rude to hide from me.”

  “I am frightful. I’m harmless, but I don’t look harmless. Waleron trusts me.”

  “This I know.” Engelard was quiet for a moment and then ordered the others from his room. As she stood alone before the man who might make her journey home less terrifying and much shorter, Dove trembled. “There. I cannot risk my people to someone whom I do not understand. I have given you more leeway than I usually would. Remove your hood.”

  Shaking, her hands rose to push back her hood, and as she did, Dove smoothed down her hair as much as possible. The little man’s eyes widened. Pulling her hood back over her head, Dove turned. “I will go.”

  “Stop.” Engelard stepped closer and pushed back the hood again. “Bianca.”

  “What?”

  “You look like her—Bianca.”

  “Who is Bianca?” Dove whispered.

  “A legend I heard in the town when I was a little boy.” His eyes twinkled in the firelight. “They say that a woman named Bianca, all white from head to toe, had eyes of fire when angered against injustice. The town called her Scynscaþa, but to those she helped, she was like an angel.” Engelard stroked his beard as he watched the fire glow in her eyes. “Are you angel or demon?”

  She dropped her head. “I’m neither. I’m just a girl who has no color to her hair, eyes, and skin. Otherwise, I’m no different from any other girl in Oxford or my village of Wynnewood.”

  “And you want to get home using our tunnels.”

  “Lord Morgan said he has heard legends. He said if they were real and your people helped me home that way, he would pay whatever you asked.”

  She held her breath, anxious to hear his answer. He went to a table near the fireplace and poured her a glass of something. “Drink. You will sleep here and Gildon will lead you to the next settlement after breakfast.”

  “Thank you. How much—”

  “We can help a friend of Waleron’s. I’ve heard what you did for Reynilda. You risked your life to capture that unicorn. We can escort you home. Gildon will show you to where to sleep.”

  Relieved, Dove curtseyed. She crept into the other room and presented herself to the men who had escorted her there. “Engelard says that Gildon is to show me where I sleep.”

  “You’re staying?”

  “Until tomorrow. Then someone will lead me home.”

  Home. T
hat word wrapped itself around her heart like a warm blanket. She was going home.

  Three days later, Dove followed Dolfin through the tunnels past the second community. Her first escort, Jevan, had not been friendly. Accustomed to running through the caverns that connected the communities, he’d walked faster than she’d ever imagined possible. By the time they’d reached Worcester, she’d been exhausted.

  Dolfin, unlike the others, was chatty. He wanted to know about Wynnewood, how she’d gotten from there to Oxford, if she’d seen a pretty, young miss with laughing eyes and red hair, and if she’d attended the hanging. From the minute they stepped out of the gathering room, the questions flew.

  “So, you found Philip?”

  “Yes. He was very ill, but he’s fine now. He was to resume his lessons today.”

  Dolfin pointed to the archway ahead. “That one is low; be careful. So, how long ago did Lord Morgan send his son to school?”

  “Oh, Philip is just a seaman’s son. Lord Morgan decided to educate him when he showed aptitude for learning.”

  “How old is he?”

  Dove ducked as she reached the archway. “He’s sixteen.”

  “They didn’t apprentice him to someone? I thought that boys were sent to be apprentices.”

  “He was,” she agreed, “but his master taught him nothing. He should have been brought before the guild, but Philip didn’t want them to do that.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  As they walked, at a pace faster than she’d managed on her trek to Oxford but slower than with Jevan, Dove explained what had happened and how Philip had felt sorry for the perfectionist fletcher. “It was nice for me. Philip had much free time from his duties so he would come and help me hunt, work in the garden, and tell me stories.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  “He tells me about I AM and the stories in I AM’s book.” The torch flickered on Dolfin’s face as he turned to look at her. He was visibly confused. “You don’t know I AM? I didn’t either.”

  “Who is I AM?

  “He is Philip’s God. You know, the God of the churches where people go to worship.” Her patient explanation would have insulted a less curious young man. It was nearly patronizing.