Avelynn: The Edge of Faith

by Marissa Campbell

  “May I come in?” Marared asked.

  I hesitated. Alrik would be waiting, and I wanted to get the journey underway.

  “It’s important,” she said.

  I stepped aside and let her enter. She took up residence on a chair.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but this matter will not wait.” Marared brushed down the front of her kirtle.

  “Can I offer you a drink?” I asked, moving to the pitcher of mead.

  “No.”

  I tried to assess her mood and suspected this wouldn’t be a jovial visit. I poured myself a good measure, took a fortifying drink, and turned to face my guest. “To what do I owe the honor of your company?” I sat on a bench opposite, the long plank table between us.

  She folded her hands on the worn and dented surface. “I’ve come to ask you to leave Wales.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Alrik has no intention of leaving until this conflict with Rhodri is over.”

  “My request has nothing to do with Alrik.”

  “I’m afraid I have no intention of leaving him.”

  “My uncle is willing to offer you passage. There is no reason for you to stay.”

  “Except that Alrik and I are promised.”

  “You are not wed. You have time to change your mind.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Why would I change my mind?”

  “The two of you do not belong together. Alrik and I are bound by a past, a connection you will never understand. We share the same ancestors, the same future. You’re an outsider, a meaningless fling. He’ll grow bored of you and toss you aside. I’ve seen it countless times. He always comes back to me.”

  Her connection to Alrik’s past rankled, but her audacity overshadowed my discomfort. Indignation rose in its stead. “I’m sorry that my announcement hurt you, but I do not mean to leave his side.”

  She stood, her hands braced on the table. “Then you’ve left me no choice. If you don’t leave of your own free will, I will force the matter.”

  I remained seated and leaned back to look up at her. “You mean to threaten me?”

  “My grandmother was a child of the harsh ice lands of the Norse. She could summon demons and force them to bend to her will. She could read and cast the runes, spit curses or grant blessings depending on her whim. She was a powerful völva, and she bestowed upon me the full strength of her power when she died.”

  Marared’s grandmother was a witch?

  “You will leave Wales immediately, or I will use whatever means necessary to change your mind.”

  “You mean to use magic against me?” My tone came across more dubious than I had intended. I’d never witnessed anything magical in my life.

  “Yes.”

  I reconsidered her. I had personally experienced the strange occurrences after or during a ritual, and I believed in all aspects of the supernatural. Elf shots caused illness. Creatures old and frightening hunted the dark forests. The dead walked amongst us. Fairies and sirens called men to their deaths in bogs and glistening pools. But could a person harness those forces and wield their power to terrifying effects?

  She threw a small packet on the table. “A token.”

  The last time someone had dropped such a warning at my feet, I discovered my grandmother’s hair scalped right from her head. A tremor shot through me. I remembered my horror and helplessness when I learned Demas had tortured and killed her. I poked the leather bag with a cautious forefinger. “I’m quite certain I don’t want to know.”

  “Allow me, then.” She untied the drawstring, turning the woolen pouch upside down. A wax figure slid out, no bigger than my palm. “Do you know what this is?”

  “Yes.” My tone was flat.

  She picked it up in her hand, rubbing her thumb across its smooth surface. “Good. Then you know what an effigy can do, even a crude one such as this. I plan to make one that’s more representative of my target. This is just to give you an idea of what you’re up against.” She tossed it at me. I caught it.

  “I can melt part of the wax with fire, stab it through with needles, twist it, pull it—the possibilities are endless.” Marared strolled across the room and grabbed the door’s latch.

  I tucked the thing back inside the pouch.

  “Your time is running out, Avelynn. You have exactly three days to leave Wales, or you will find yourself regretting it.”

  I found Alrik near the stables, helping two grooms saddle our horses. He took one look at my face and asked, “What is wrong?”

  “Marared threatened me.”

  He cinched the girth strap and drew me aside. “What do you mean?”

  “She accosted me and told me to leave Wales or else. She gave me this.” I handed him the pouch.

  His eyebrows furrowed, and he loosed the drawstring, peering inside. He straightened. “Surely there is a mistake.”

  I shook my head. “It would be difficult to misinterpret her intentions, given the clear and explicit warning and set of consequences involved.”

  “She has not taken news of our involvement well. She is angry, but she is no witch.”

  “Whether she is actually capable of magic or not, the threat remains. She wants me far away from you so she can slip back into your bed.” I fortified myself with my cloak.

  He tucked the pouch in his satchel. “I will speak with her. We are staying in Wales to aid her uncle, to help secure her family’s position. She will come to understand.”

  “And if your words don’t soothe her?”

  He brushed the back of his hand along my cheek. “No harm will come to you. I will fix this.” He stormed off toward the hall, leaving me and the groomsmen to watch his receding footsteps.

  What had transpired between Alrik and Marared? We’d discussed his life growing up in Gotland and his conflicts with his brothers. Beyond that, a gaping hole yawned in the space between Gotland and when we first met—a lapse clearly filled with private moments spent between Marared’s legs.

  I dropped onto the bench outside the stables and set about braiding my hair, withdrawing a comb from my satchel to tease the long locks into smooth strands of silk. Their shared history grated.

  The rhythmic brushing and gentle tugging on my scalp soothed more than the knots in my hair, and my breathing slowed.

  I needed to trust Alrik; yet despite his surety that he could make her see reason, after the day’s little spectacle, she didn’t strike me as someone who could be swayed by logic and common sense. Which brought me back to her threat. What would happen if Alrik’s approach failed? She had given me three days. I didn’t know what to make of the woman’s boasts. I had no idea what she was capable of. Uncertain how else to approach the problem, I had little recourse but to await the outcome of Alrik’s parlay.

  I plaited my hair, tying the end with a leather thong, and wrapped it in a band of blue silk. I slipped the comb back in the satchel, where my fingers brushed the satin pouch containing my divining bones. If Marared was capable of magic, was it something I could access, too? I tried to recall anything Muirgen might have said or mentioned but came up empty. Perhaps I would find the answers tonight.

  Gil insisted he knew just the right place for my ritual, and before I could stopper Alrik’s lips, Gil trotted ahead of us, bound for the coast.

  My horse pulled a small cart filled with firewood, a tent, our bedrolls and a caged hare for the sacrifice. Alrik and I rode abreast, ambling after our guide. I lowered my voice, leaning toward him. “I do wish you’d spoken with me before you confided in Gil about my faith.”

  “He knows I am pagan.”

  “I’m not a Norseman. I grew up in a world that condemns people with different beliefs. I stand accused of witchcraft. If word of this expedition reaches Christian ears, it will not sway the popular opinion on the matter.”

  “You are accused in England. Not here.”

  “What happens when word of my charges reaches Wales? It’s only a matter of time, Alrik. I would have preferred to keep the knowled
ge of my faith between us.”

  “I trust Gil.”

  “What of his sister?”

  “Perhaps this will serve to warn her. Let her know you are not to be trifled with.”

  I groaned. With everything that had already come to pass, what was another deadly secret revealed? “Have you spoken with her?”

  “No.” He frowned. “I could not get her alone. But I will.”

  Gil stopped and tied his horse to a decrepit, wind-whipped tree. He walked to the edge of the cliff. After dismounting, Alrik and I joined him.

  “It’s something like a cromlech and barrow combined.” Gil pointed at the haphazard steps cut into the cliff wall.

  “Down there?” I craned my head to get a better look. The constant wind had loosened several strands of my hair, tugging them free of the braid. They whipped around my face as I peered over the edge. There was a natural split in the cliff, a jagged tear that dropped into the mouth of a black chamber. The crevice was wide enough for one person to squeeze through. Industrious and foolhardy souls had chiseled narrow steps out of the cliff, which were overgrown with shrubs and dead foliage, clinging with tenacity to the hairline cracks in the rock. It looked like one misstep to a broken neck.

  I searched the coastline. We had passed a wide beach a half hour before, but it was well used by locals and traders alike. Everywhere else, sheer cliff faces dropped to the crashing surf below. Even if I’d wanted to keep looking, I knew this was right. I could feel it.

  “Men made sacrifices here to appease their gods. Fitting, no?” Gil beamed.

  Gods, no. This had been used to honor a goddess. The cleft, as if between two legs, led to a dark, rounded cave—a pregnant mound, the womb of a Mother Goddess. “It’s perfect.” I smiled, warmed by his enthusiasm. Perhaps I’d been too hasty, casting him in the same lot with his sister. “And you’re sure it opens to the sea below?” Carrying wood down the stairs would be treacherous, but if I could get to the beach, I would be able to have a bonfire to greet the rising dawn.

  Gil rubbed his chin. “Well, of that I can’t be sure. None of us would ever go down there. The Church was adamant that it was a place of devil worship and great sin, not to mention home to unfathomable monsters and demons.”

  I nodded. Only one way to find out. “You two stay here. I’ll have a look.”

  “Shouldn’t one of us go with you?” Gil looked at Alrik.

  “While I appreciate your concern, Gil, of one thing I am certain. This is not a place to be trod by men’s feet.”

  The sun was halfway to the horizon. If I didn’t get on with it soon, it would be full dark by the time I was ready. I retrieved two torches from a bundle in the cart and tucked the thin strips of pine under my belt.

  Alrik kissed my cheek. “Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  He led me back to the cleft, and I sat down, my legs dangling over the edge.

  From inland, anyone scanning the coastline would never know these steps existed. It was only from the cliff above, looking down, that their purpose could be understood. The first step was half a body’s length down. I rolled onto my belly, inching my way backward over the ledge until I felt the lip of stone with the toe of my boot. I would have preferred to make my way down the steps barefoot, for better traction, but I didn’t know what I would find in the cave, or even on the stairs themselves. Several were overrun with brambles. I eased my full weight onto the step and turned in the confined space. The wind lashed at my face, but at least the rocks were dry. I scanned the horizon over the boundless sea. It was clear, but for how long? If it rained in the night, or morning, it would be dangerous trying to get back up. The path was almost vertical. I placed my palms against the rocks on either side of my body and found the edges worn smooth from ancient hands finding purchase as I did now, or from wind, rain, or a combination of them all. I searched in vain for a nook or cranny to grip. Only the pressure of my hands pressing into the wall provided any semblance of safety.

  I tested each narrow band of rock before committing my weight to it. The wind howled in my ears, and the crevice amplified the sounds of the thundering surf below me.

  I managed to maneuver around many of the twisted branches that impeded my progress, kicking and dislodging the dead foliage as I went. Halfway down, my kirtle snagged on a gnarled branch, but I couldn’t shake it loose. Gritting my teeth, I left off holding the wall to grab my knife. Careful to not lean too far forward, I lowered into a squat and hacked at the stem of the offending plant. I managed to loosen a clump of dirt at its root. Something glinting caught my eye near the base of the shrub. I dug my fingers into the packed earth and lifted. It was a silver ring. I rubbed it against my dress, brushing most of the caked dirt away. The small lip exposed to the air was a dark black, but the parts buried in the dirt were a soft yellow. Carved in it was the outline of a woman as it wrapped around the band, voluptuous hips and breasts swelled around a deeply indented waist. Her hair was swept into the likeness of a bird, and under her feet, as if she were standing on it, reposed a canine of some sort, perhaps a wolf or a fox. The lines were obscured by the tarnish. I studied the inside of the ring. Ogham letters stretched out; their lines cut deeply into the smooth surface: Mother. I gaped at the entrance to the cave. A thrill passed through me.

  I didn’t know how old the ring was, but no one would dare wear such a thing now. I tucked it into my satchel. Whoever had last worn this ring had walked these steps. Perhaps she was a priestess or initiate. Or was it meant as an offering? By falling here instead of making it into the cave, had it caused some sort of catastrophic result? A drought or blight?

  I stood and continued the slow, steady descent. Nearer to the cave’s mouth, markings stood out around the entrance, but they’d been worn away by time and weather. Only a faint and incomplete picture remained, but it bore no resemblance to anything I knew.

  I took a step inside and retrieved my pouch of dried fungus. I set a handful on the ground beside the pine torch, and grabbed my fire starter. Striking the steel off the flint in one smooth motion sent a juicy spark flying into the tinder nest. It started to smoke. I cupped my hands around the fungus, blowing until the dried kindling lit. I blew a few more times until a hearty flame stretched and yawned to life. I held the torch over the fire. Impregnated with wax, only a moment passed before one end of the long pine stick was alight. Balancing the torch in one hand, I packed up my tools and stamped out the dying embers of the kindling.

  Shadows rippled and flowed around me. I made my way farther into the cave and was immediately corralled into a narrow passage. The path continued downward, but rather than forming steps, the floor slanted in a slow, steady decline. I couldn’t see how far the tunnel stretched. The torch’s light reached only a few feet ahead of me.

  Ealhswith had once talked about the sweet channel a man uses when he takes you. At the time, I didn’t know what that was. Since then, with Alrik in my bed, I’d become well acquainted with its meaning, and its pleasant use. That was what this felt like—as if I had just entered the maidenhead of the Goddess. Fertility indeed.

  The wind whistled over the entrance of the cave, but the thick stone muffled the crash of the surf. It was like listening through a seashell brought to my ear. I held my torch up to one of the walls. They were alive with detailed carvings and drawings. Reds and blues wove amongst the dark outlines of animals and people. Symbols and swirling designs flowed through the still life like vines. I traced one of the images with my finger. Their likeness echoed in the pages of Muirgen’s book. How was that possible? Had she been here? I shook my head. Not Muirgen, but perhaps one of her ancestors presided over this place. I placed a hand on my satchel. A priestess of Muirgen’s line might have worn the ring. My heart swelled with possible connection.

  I would have liked to study the paintings further, but I was conscious of the dwindling daylight. There would be time tomorrow to linger.

  My feet shuffled on the soft silt, disturbing the reverent silence.
The air was dry, despite the proximity of the ocean, and heavy, as if I walked in a thick fog. Sounds seemed deadened, the atmosphere dense. The walls vibrated power, and as I moved deeper into the cave, the pressure built, leaving my ears ringing. I swallowed to clear them. No wonder the priests advised people away from this place. I didn’t feel fear; in fact a boundless curiousity propelled me farther into the cave. History played out in this space. For the first time since learning of Muirgen, I experienced a strong connection with my past, with the women who had come before me. I wished my mother were here to see this. What would she make of the wonders of this cave? The ring? We were secluded in our faith in England. Other than a few sacred knolls and pools, there was little evidence of a life prior to Christianity. But here in this place, the Goddess had left her mark on the very stone itself.

  The passage started wide enough for two people to walk side by side, but it narrowed until it was so tight it forced me to shimmy sideways. Lumps and juts of sharp stone jabbed at my body as I wiggled, trying to shuffle deeper into the cave. I shouldered my way forward, until I stumbled and fell from between the rocks into an open chamber, losing the grip on my pine light. It tumbled and rolled, coming to rest at the base of a large stone, several feet from my outstretched hand.

  “Shite.” I stood, testing the tenderness of the ankle I had turned on my way down to the dirt floor. That had been close. I’d never considered the possibility of getting trapped down here. Alrik would have come to find me eventually, but the thought of being wedged even temporarily proved an unappealing prospect. I’d have to put some momentum into my exit, just to be safe.

  A beam of sunlight struck the lintel above the entranceway. The source was a hole bored high into the opposite wall. The ceiling, which lifted several feet overhead, looked natural. The walls, however, had been manipulated from the stone. I bent and retrieved the torch. The chamber resembled a honeycomb, with deep spherical alcoves pitting the smooth surface. I reached my light into one of the rounded recesses and gasped, scrambling backward.