Later, they will talk of many things, but for now there is nothing left to say. She wraps her arms around Margawn and will not let go as the three of them walk toward the cave.
Egan and Cuthberht, it seems, have much in common. The woodcutter pulls a finely carved cross from beneath his tunic when he sees Egan’s. The monk’s face shines.
“God is good,” he says, and the two men embrace and sit quietly by the fire together, the lack of words no loss between them.
Later, Wilona and Margawn stand by the river in the silvery-shiver, holding tight to each other. Bana noses about in the stones and then sits by Margawn. The dog stares at the black outline of a nearby oak and growls. Wilona puts her hand on the dog’s head. He vibrates, every muscle tense.
“What is it, boy?” she says. “What do you see?”
Something moves in a nearby oak. An owl, unnaturally large, takes shape, and sails into the sky. Wilona’s heart skips a beat and she tracks its flight. It soars high in the star-filled sky and then, for a moment as oddly long as the owl is oddly large, it’s silhouetted in front of the moon, the enormous wings seeming to envelop the radiant and all-encompassing disc so that the two things are made one. And then the bird breaks free and blends into the black night beyond the moon, while the flutter of wings and feather and the scent of the moors remain.
Wilona holds Margawn’s hand as they watch the sky, then he moves his hand to her belly, stretching his fingers wide. Warmth spreads through her like honey. She covers his hand with both of hers and presses, tightly, so tightly nothing will ever pry her fingers from his.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing any book is an adventure. The writer sets out in a little boat on a vast sea of ignorance, hoping to find land. Writing a novel like this one, set so far in the past, is like launching a paper airplane out the window of a spaceship in the hopes of hitting some sort of habitable planet. Were it not for the help of an army of navigators, I’d still be floating around out there.
Beyond the research, though, this book is a work of imagination. Anyone looking for mistakes in historical accuracy will no doubt find them. I haven’t tried to write a historical text, rather I’ve scooped up the broad facts of seventh-century Northumbria, put them into a pot with gleanings about what life may have been like during the time, seasoned it with observations, fancies, and fears, hung the pot over the fire of my obsessions, and hopefully produced an entertaining and thought-provoking fictional story. My friend, Sister Rita, says she thinks this book is an allegory for the journey of my own soul. Perhaps it is.
I am, as always, grateful to David Forrer and Kim Witherspoon at Inkwell Management. They always saw the flares I shot when lost and panicked, and sent help.
Thanks, too, to everyone at HarperCollins Canada: Rob Firing, David Kent, Leo MacDonald, Jennifer Lambert, the Much-Missed Maylene Loveland, Kelsey Marshall, Lorissa Sengara, Colleen Simpson, Iris Tupholme, Terry Toews, and Noelle Zitzer. Thanks also to Stacey Cameron and Allyson Latta for their keen eyes and insights.
Thanks to Maria diBattista and Holly Johnson, who give me so much perspective and encouragement.
I greatly appreciate the generosity of people who gave so freely of their time and knowledge during my research trip to England (what My Best Beloved calls the Anglo-Saxon Forced March Northwards) back in 2008. They are: Lynn Nick, Van Nick, and Jackie Wright, who guided me through the great burial mounds of Sutton Hoo; Canon Kate Tristam in Lindisfarne, who shared stories of St. Hild; Reverend Jonathan Goode and archaeologist Robin Daniels in Hartlepool; Katherine Bearcock at the York Museum; Lance Alexander at West Stow; archaeologist Graeme Young at Bamburgh Castle; Professor James Fraser in the Scottish History Department of the University of Edinburgh; Alice Blackwell at the National Museum of Scotland; archaeologist Paul Frodsham in Yeavering (Ad Gefrin); guide extraordinaire at York Minster, John Rushton; Professor Christopher Norton in the University of York Centre for Medieval Studies, King’s Manor; Roy and Eileen Thomas (for wonderful hospitality!); Jenny James for her information on birds of the River Deben; as well as Aidan O’Neill and Douglas Edington for delicious food and delightful friendship.
On my website, www.LaurenBDavis.com, I have a long bibliography posted as well as a graph showing the Anglo-Saxon calendar.
About the Author
LAUREN B. DAVIS is the author of the bestselling and critically acclaimed novels The Stubborn Season, The Radiant City, Our Daily Bread—which was longlisted for the Scotiabank Giller Prize and named a best book of the year by both The Globe and Mail and The Boston Globe—and The Empty Room—named a best book of the year by the National Post and the Winnipeg Free Press—as well as two collections of short stories. Born in Montreal, she now lives in Princeton, New Jersey.
Web: laurenbdavis.com
Facebook: Lauren B. Davis
Twitter: @Laurenbdavis
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Also by Lauren B. Davis
The Empty Room
Our Daily Bread
The Radiant City
The Stubborn Season
An Unrehearsed Desire
Rat Medicine & Other Unlikely Curatives
Credits
Cover image: Photo by Matteo Colombo, stocksy.com;
Illustrations from shutterstock.com, vectorstock.com
Cover design: Michel Vrana
Copyright
Against a Darkening Sky
Copyright © 2015 by Lauren B. Davis
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPUB Edition March 2015 ISBN 9781443432115
Version 06112015
Published by Harper Avenue, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
FIRST EDITION
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