“Yes, the Guards who knew seemed to think it was hilarious. They’d say ‘every time Pawley takes a cac in the afterlife it lands on the king’. Military humour, I’m afraid.”
Martin was staring at the vault and Pawley’s horrifying remains. “So we have to pull him out? Coffin and all?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
Martin took a breath. “Best be about it then, to quote Will.”
Heather moved back a few feet. James watched her. “Where are you going?”
“Awa' fae th' reek.”
“Are you not going to help?”
“Wi' ye twa pure tough men? Na, I’ll bade back 'ere 'n' supervise. Hurry, git crackin’.”
They had to remove the vault lid to remove the coffin. With Heather’s powers boosting their strength it was doable but awkward. The coffin and remains had to be removed piece by piece. The lining of the coffin was surprisingly still intact and acted somewhat as a shroud. They lifted Pawley free and then pulled out the remains of the coffin. They looked in and saw a wooden bottom.
Martin looked from the bottom to James. “There’s nothing else!”
James stepped back and looked at the side of the vault and then looked inside again. “It's too shallow. Help me remove the bottom.”
Martin reached in with James and worked at the bottom where it met the side of the vault. After several attempts, James pulled out his dagger and pried at the edge of the wood. It creaked loudly and then a loud snap was heard as the bottom split up the middle. James used his dagger to work the split and in moments Martin was able to pull up half the bottom.
“Another coffin!” exclaimed Martin excitedly.
James pulled out the other half of the bottom and looked in. Sitting at the bottom of the vault was another coffin. It was decorated and gilded and still very much intact. James rapped his knuckles on the lid and it sounded solid. Martin was at the opening side and reached in and lifted the lid. Heather stepped forward to look in.
The lid creaked open on rusted hinges. Heather gasped and held a hand to her mouth. Martin looked at James for a long moment and then reached in and pulled out the only thing in the coffin: a letter.
“By the Word,” said James. “What on earth is that?”
“A letter,” said Martin and held it in one hand and stared at it.
“Open it,” said Heather.
Martin looked surprised and then glanced at James. Heather swore and snatched the letter from Martin. She turned it over and opened it and pulled out a folded piece of vellum. “Th' envelope 'n' paper ur vellum. Ah sense power fae thaim. They’re preserved somehow.”
“Read it,” demanded James.
Heather opened the letter and scanned the words. She held her hand to her mouth and her eyes widened. “This canae be.”
Martin took the letter and read it out loud.
Greetings. The remains of the late King Harold Hietower have been removed and hidden elsewhere. They have been removed to a place where they will be preserved until the time is right for the line to be renewed. Search in the place Gaea once called her own.
Martin looked up at Heather and James. “It’s signed Anelise Bracewell and Benjamin Erwin, 890 A.C.” He handed the letter back to Heather, who scanned it again.
“Dammit,” cursed James. He turned to Heather who was shaking her head. “All right, who is Anelise Bracewell and why are you so shocked?”
Heather let go of her mouth and held the letter reverently. “Ah kin sense her power 'ere. Sae subtle. Her life force is in this letter. Preserving it. Ah, dear Gaea. It's fading noo. So quickly. Lik' water thro' a sieve.”
James and Martin watched fascinated as the letter and envelop turned to powder and drifted down to the ground.
Heather dusted her hands. “So beautifully done. I think I can see how she did it. Brilliant.”
“Who is she?” barked James.
Heather blinked at the tone and frowned at James. “Mynd yer manners. Anelise Bracewell wis th' Cill Darae at th' stairt of th' Revolution. Th' Freamhaigh wis Benjamin Erwin. Thay disappeared whin th' Revolution stairted.”
“The Benjamin Erwin, of the Great Debate?”
“The very same.”
“And they stole the remains of the king.”
“Aye, bit he died in 878. But 890 A.C. ’twas twenty years efter th' Revolution. Will’s mum wis th' Cill Darae in 890 A.C. ’Twas th' year th' Purge started. This means that thare wur two Cill Darae in 890 A.C. If this is true, Anelise and Benjamin wid hae bin sae auld! Gaea knew. She mist hae! This is incredible. Why wid thay tak' 'n' hide th' king’s remains? We need it the noo.”
Martin looked crestfallen. He reached in and closed the coffin lid. He lifted one half of the bottom board and slid it back into the vault. James watched him a moment and then joined him. In silence, they restored the vault until the remains of Ran Pawley were back inside and vault lid closed once more. Martin said a prayer, and they stood silent.
“What now?” asked James.
They all looked at one another, unsure of what to do. Heather just shook her head and bit her lower lip. James laid a hand on the vault and thought hard.
“What did the letter mean when it said the place that Gaea called her own? Where is that?”
Heather shook her head. “A've na idea.”
James stared at her. “Can you ask Will? And Nadine?”
Heather looked startled and looked away embarrassed. “Aye, a moment.” She stood in silence in the manner James knew meant she was communing with the other druids. In a moment she stirred.
“Will and Nadine are astonished. The draoi are all buzzing about this. Gaea still won’t respond. Nadine says she will consult the Draoi Manuscript and see if she can find a reference to this place.”
James grunted. “Great. How long will that take?”
“Nadine tellt me ye wid ask that. She said it wull take as lang as it takes.”
James stared at Heather for a moment and then struck the top of the vault. “By the Word! This is perfect! Just perfect!”
“Shh!” said Martin. “Lower your voice. There’s nothing to be done. We need to leave this place. Our work here is done. I suggest you two head back to the inn and wait for Nadine to find answers.”
James nodded and then looked up at Martin. “What about you? You don’t seem to include yourself in this.”
“No. I am heading to the church here in the castle. It’s time I spoke to the bishops and deacons. They’re still sequestered here. They need to hear what is happening throughout the land. The Church needs to respond and stop the chaos.”
Heather grasped Martin’s arm. “Vicar! You’ll be captured! Ye hae tae bade wi' us.”
“I’m sorry, Heather. I feel a calling. I need to do this. My faith demands it. The people of Belkin need leadership from the Church. The bishops must respond. I’m afraid I must leave you.”
“Whit aboot insuring th' remains o' th' king ur true? It's how come ye cam a' this wey. ”
Martin nodded. “Yes, my dear. Send word once you know where to search. Any of the vicars in Munsten will know how to get a message to me.”
“An' if yer thrown in th' dungeon?”
Martin smiled. “I place my fate in the hands of God. I shall not fear. Have faith yourself, Heather. You too, James. I must do this.”
Heather protested further, but James cut her off. “Don’t, Heather. He’s decided. We won’t sway him. Brent’s the same way. Come. Let's head back to the inn. We’ll wait there for word from Nadine. Martin, it has been a pleasure. Stay safe, my friend.” James clasped Martin’s forearm.
Martin drew him in for a hug and patted James’ back. “You too, my son. Stay safe. Stop fighting with Heather.”
Martin turned to Heather and embraced her. “You too. Stop bickering. James is a good man. He has only your safety in mind. He’s not trying to marginalise you. Give him time and show him why he should let you spread your wings.”
Heather nodded and pushed back from him
and wiped her eyes. “Ah wull, Martin.”
Martin nodded and led the way out of the mausoleum.
Vicar Martin Jordan watched James and Heather leave him and head back to the secret passage leading out of the castle. As they left Martin felt the strength Heather was giving him fade and disappear. He felt the weight of his flesh return to his bones and he took a deep breath to steady himself. The corridors were still vacant, and Martin estimated the time to be an hour before sunrise. He could hear the noises of servants in other areas of the castle and knew it wouldn’t be long before the castle woke and started another day. He looked up and down the corridor and then headed off in the direction James had told him to go.
It had only been months since he had been in the castle, but it felt so much longer. When he had been here before he had seldom left the areas of the castle he knew well. He wandered down hallways and soon found himself in an area he knew. The main Council chamber lay to his right down a marble corridor. Up ahead was the church. Sure of his direction he made his way to the double doors and swung one open. The church lay dark and quiet before him. He paused at the entrance and then entered and closed the door behind him. He waited in the darkness until his eyes adjusted and then moved over to the pews that lay before the rising altar.
He positioned himself in the centre aisle and put down his travelling bag before drawing off his jacket and knit cap and dropping them to the carpet. He knelt with a struggle; his hips and knees protesting, and he grunted. He knelt upright and then bowed his head.
“Hear me, Lord God. Hear my prayer. I come before you humbled and in sin. I have done much that I am ashamed of. I have desecrated the remains of those who were given to You in death. I beseech Your forgiveness. I offer myself to You as Your vessel to do with as You will. Hallowed is Thy name.”
Martin remained silent and emptied his thoughts. In time, images of the life on the farm came to him. The smiling faces of the draoi as they went about their training and embracing all that was good in life. They lived a simple life. Devoid of possessions or desires for power or wealth. For them, every day was a blessing, and they welcomed their role in life like none other. Martin had found such comfort living beside them. The draoi best represent the values the Church preaches. The realm could learn so much from them. And the Church if I am honest with myself. And I could learn much as well.
Martin opened his eyes and found he could see much better. He struggled to turn his head and upper body and looked behind him to the stained-glass ceiling of the Church. The sun was just rising, and the glass gleamed with a myriad of colours. It took Martin’s breath away.
“This is the glory of God. May all witness His love and grace,” he murmured, and he turned all the way around and sat and watched as the sun rose behind the glass.
He remained there until the dust in the air sparked with sunlight. The church was alive with colour and light beams streamed through the glass and lit upon pews and carvings. He could feel the heat of the sun on his face and he closed his eyes. A tear escaped his right eye and trickled down his cheek unnoticed.
God, please give me the strength to let them see reason, he prayed.
In time he grew stiff, and he grunted. He rolled over to his hands and feet and straightened himself with an effort. Martin knew Nadine had corrected his joints, but they still gave him pain. Now that he was separated from Heather he felt it all the more. He stood straighter and arched backwards to straighten his spine.
He turned and picked up his belongings. He looked about the church and then moved toward the back. A large set of double doors marked the entrance to the church offices and quarters. As he approached, he could see a large wooden bar had been placed across the doors on large metal hooks, barring the way. He frowned and dropped his belongings and rushed over to the bar. He tried to lift it, but it was far too heavy for him. He banged on the door and called out and waited for a reply. Hearing nothing, he grimaced, and then looked around. He spied a large metal candelabra on a stand and dragged it over. He pulled off the candles and with a grunt, he placed an end under the bar and pried it up.
Sweat broke out on his brow with the strain and he held his breath as he pushed the stand higher. The wooden bar protested against the metal hooks that held it in place. He bent his knees and lifted the stand over his shoulder and then, shuddering with the effort, he straightened his legs and forced the wooden bar over the metal hook on the right. He twisted the stand and the wooden bar pulled free of the door and when he saw it was clear of the hook, he pulled the candelabra back with a jerk. The wooden bar dropped with a booming thud. The wood bounced off the ground and almost came off the second hook. It settled, and everything went quiet.
Martin looked about and listened. He waited for a time and heard nothing. He bent and dragged the wooden bar away from the doors. He pulled it clear about two feet but stopped when the wood squealed against the other metal hook and would go no further. Martin pulled at the door and it swung open until it banged against the wooden bar. He looked through the opening and saw a flickering candle on a side table inside.
Martin grabbed his belongings and threw them through the opening. He stepped over the bar and turned sideways and with an effort, and sucking his stomach in, he squeezed through the narrow opening. In a moment he was through. He picked up his things and looked around. The candle provided enough light to see both ends of the hallway he was in.
He grabbed the candle and went down the hallway to the right where he knew the bishops and deacons were quartered. The air smelled musty and was heavy with dust. He fought back a sneeze and rounded a corner. Standing in the corridor before him was an old man looking frightened. The man squinted at the candlelight and peered at Martin with eyes that no longer could see that well. The man was gaunt and frail. His cheekbones stood out from his face and he was unwashed. His stench filled the corridor.
“Bishop Lane?” asked Martin, recognising the man at once.
“Heh? Who’s that? Speak up!”
“It’s me, Bishop Lane, Vicar Jordan. We met last year, remember?”
“Vicar Martin? What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to speak to you all. Bring you news of the world. And ask for your help.”
“Help? You ask me for help? Help with what?”
“Help with the Realm. The country is in turmoil. The Church does nothing to help. Another revolution is not far off. We need to give the people guidance. Lead them to our faith.”
Bishop Lane stared at Martin with an expression he could not figure out. Then the bishop laughed a little laugh and Martin felt his eyes go wide in surprise. The laugh grew until the old man was cackling and then coughing with the effort. Martin rushed to his side and pounded his back until he stopped and recovered.
“Lead them to our faith? Lead them to our faith?” gasped the old man. “Who and what army?”
“The Church. We are God’s army. The people need only hear from the bishops. There has only been silence from Healy.”
The bishop tore himself away from Martin. “Foolishness. There is nought that we can do from here. We were trapped here. Prisoners in our own church! God has abandoned us.”
Martin felt his heart tear at the words. They slapped him and made his thoughts reel. “No! No, you are the bishops of the church! You have a duty to God to protect the people. Lead them with the words of God. Provide faith when others have none!”
Bishop Lane turned away from Martin and moved away from him, limping on his bad left leg. “There is no church. Our faith is gone with it. Go back to where you came from. There is nothing you can do here. I need more tears.”
Martin watched in horror as the man slowly moved out of the candlelight. “And the others? The other bishops? What do they say?”
The man looked back at the edge of the light. “They are no more. I am the last. God has forsaken me. Leave me in peace to die.”
The man turned and limped away disappearing into the darkness.
Heather and Ja
mes crept through the back alleys of Munsten and returned to their inn. Heather used her powers to allow them to slip unseen past the morning cook. He was kneading a large bowl of dough and getting the daily bread ready. Once past she reached out and sensed that the inn was fast asleep and the way to her room was clear. James followed close behind her as they crept up the stairs.
Heather’s mind was reeling. The letter in the vault shook the world the draoi thought they knew. Across her bond, she could sense the other draoi scrambling to make sense of the news. 'Twas nae maybee that Anelise Bracewell hud lived sae lang. She wis th' Cill Darae o' her time. Anither Cill Darae cuid nae exist while anither lived. Unless Gaea stripped her aff her role. She queried Nadine and felt her shake her head in response.
It doesn’t work that way, replied Nadine from the Rigby Farm. Heather caught glimpses of the Draoi Manuscript across the bond. When Gaea made me the Cill Darae I was changed. I can sense Gaea. I am unique in many ways. It is not possible to have another.
Urr ye sure? Probed Heather cautiously. She knew Nadine could be volatile in her emotions. Ah don’t see how come Gaea cuid nae hae anither. Think o' th' size o' th' world. Surely she haes others.
Heather felt annoyance from Nadine. I would sense them. Will would, certainly.
As the Freamhaigh?
Yes, as Freamhaigh he touches all life. He can sense all draoi. Wherever they are in the world. There is no limit. It’s staggering, the power he has.
Aye, bit that wis then. Afore ye 'n' Will wur made whit ye are.
Heather could sense Nadine pause in thought. That’s a good point. Perhaps Will’s mother was aware. Knew and said nothing. It bears thought. How are you doing?
James 'n' ah ur fine. We hae juist returned tae th' inn 'n' we ur almaist back tae oor rooms. Martin haes left us. He’s gone tae visit th' bishops 'n' ask fur thair hulp.
He did what?
He gone tae speak th' bishops, ah think. He said his god wis callin’ him.
Nadine cursed out loud and Heather blushed at the words she chose. He’s an idiot. He’ll get himself killed.
Freamhaigh Page 24
