A month later, the abbey’s hall thronged with old women; elder mothers gathered from abbeys all over the land. The pillar-lined, grey stone room had been built as a dining hall, but doubled as a meeting place for the Council of Elders. Sturdy tables and chairs cluttered its polished stone floor, and stained-glass windows allowed in shafts of sunlight. The tables had been pushed against the walls, and the chairs were arranged into rows where the old ladies sat, facing a polished bur wood desk.
Acolytes and young healers stood near tables covered with pots of brewing tea and platters of buttered scones and pastries. Others dashed in and out with kettles of boiling water and fresh confections, steaming hot from the kitchen ovens. An air of aged wisdom hung over the multitude of elder mothers. While most had faded eyes and frail bodies, they were still sharp of mind and tongue.
Ellese sat behind the desk and studied the sea of wrinkled faces. It bobbed and weaved, accompanied by sniffles, hacking coughs and wheezing breaths as the old women aired their infirmities, illnesses associated with age, which no healing could cure. Acolytes plied them with cups of milk or tea, balancing trays of pastries as they wound amidst the throng, summoned by snapping fingers and stopped by imperiously outstretched hands. The elder mothers muttered in a low-pitched hum, some probably discussing the topic on hand, and others doubtless just swapping gossip. Ellese sighed and rapped on the desk, drawing all eyes to her, some of which wandered past without pause. The majority of her audience were stern-faced matrons, but a few were truly ancient.
“You know why we are here,” she said. “You all know what has happened. I ask you today for your thoughts. What are we going to do about it?” Ellese spoke loudly, for many old ladies held brass trumpets to their ears and leant forward with peevish frowns. She scanned the throng.
A robust, middle-aged woman called, “Rescue the child.”
Ellese’s smile was bitter. “Easier said than done, Merris, considering that he is in the Underworld. Are you volunteering?”
A murmur swept through the crowd, mixed with a few titters. Merris glowered at her grinning neighbour, and many elder mothers whispered to their friends behind withered hands. A wizened crone stood, leaning on a gnarled stick.
“Find a way to bind him when he emerges,” she quavered.
Ellese nodded. “A good idea. But what?”
“What is his nature? There must be something that will work.”
“He is human,” Ellese said. “As you all know, the Black Lord cannot break the blue wards that trap him and all his foul servants in the Underworld. But the power of the wards will not stop this boy. He will travel freely to the Overworld, and he will break the wards. The demons will corrupt him and teach him their ways in preparation for the day when he will spread his evil over the land and raise armies to lay waste to those who do not bow to him.”
Another elder mother stood up. “Then he will only be a black mage. What of preparing an army to capture him when he emerges?”
Ellese looked down at the desk, her heart heavy. All the more obvious suggestions would be worthless, and she hated to reject each as it was spoken. “He is not a black mage. He will wield the power of the Black Lord. No man will be able to stand against him. The foul creatures of the night will worship him and the dark races will follow him. The boy will be invincible by any normal means.” She paused, her hands clenching. “He has been born a god.”
A hubbub started as the women objected to this sweeping statement, turning to each other for support. A plump, florid-faced woman shouted, “Why call us here, and ask for our help, when there is no solution to this threat?”
Ellese banged on the desk again, subduing the uproar a little. “There is a solution. There has to be, but perhaps we are not capable of thinking of it. I had hoped one of you had been given a vision or dream, some sign from the Lady to guide us.”
Silence fell as wrinkled brows furrowed, searching their memories for such a dream, and ancient eyes narrowed to inspect neighbours. Ellese scanned the assembly with growing desperation. For the last month, she had racked her brains for a solution. Surely one of these wise women knew the answer to this threat? Surely the Lady had given someone a sign, or a vision? The goddess would not abandon them in their hour of need.
A tall, angular woman at the back of the assembly rose, glancing around shyly as all eyes turned to her. A handsome healer with honey-blonde hair, she was the youngest elder mother there, barely out of her twenties. She looked out of place amongst so many grey-haired matrons, and fiddled with her silver healer’s necklace.
Ellese smiled with relief and assurance. “Yes, Larris?”
Larris raised her chin. “I think I know what we need to do.”
Demon Lord Page 2
