Avelynn: The Edge of Faith

by Marissa Campbell

  When I heard no further movement or conversation, I disentangled myself from the clutching hold of the leafless branches and stilled my frantic heart. I tried not to crack and break the dried wood around me.

  While there was nothing outwardly damning about Sigy’s admonishment, her threat of poison was disconcerting. I thought of her table strewn with plants and Marared’s warning that her mother knew their uses and dangers. I needed to speak with Alrik, but it would have to wait until morning. The hall was reserved for men only. With the copious amounts of drinking and boasting taking place, it was best to leave them be.

  When I arrived in the cottage, there was a box sitting on the table. Angharad had assigned Nest to see to my comfort while I was her guest, and she greeted me warmly, retrieving my cloak and hanging it on a hook by the door. She ladled out a glass of warm, honeyed milk from the cauldron over the fire. I took the drink gratefully, eager to wash away the lingering haze of Angharad’s wine.

  “What’s this?” I pointed to the box.

  “One of the ladies at court presented it to you.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. She never gave her name.”

  Gooseflesh rippled up my arms.

  “You haven’t seen her before?”

  “I’ve been here all evening. I’ve not had a chance to see all the guests arriving.”

  “Would you recognize her to see her?”

  Her face creased in confusion. “I think so.”

  “Thank you, Nest. You may go.”

  She looked at the fire.

  “I will see to the cauldron and bank the fire. Go home to your bed.”

  “You are most gracious, lady. Thank you.” She curtsied and let herself out.

  I locked the door behind her and sat, staring at the box. I knew without looking inside who it was from. Biding my time, I ladled the last of the milk into my cup, letting its warmth soothe my concern. Taking a deep breath, I lifted the lid and revealed a water clock.

  A clay cup sat atop a pedestal, a bowl underneath all. A small hole drilled in the base of the cup allowed the water level inside to drop with each swelling drip. I removed the wax-rimmed lid off the clay cup and peered inside. Three grooves. Three days. The cup bone dry. The bowl full. My time was up. It would appear Marared had not forgotten her threat after all.

  I finished the honeyed milk, rinsing the cup with water, and set it back on a shelf. I wiped the sweat from my brow and set about getting ready for bed. I changed into my underdress, laying my kirtle at the end of the bed. Sweat pooled under my breasts, and my face flushed. I swallowed hard as a wave of nausea swelled. I swayed and gripped the table, my hands clammy. I needed air. I moved to the shuttered window, but Nest had forgotten to close the latch. The window remained open. My stomach gurgled and mewled. I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth, easing the breath through my nose. The moment passed.

  I looked at the cauldron. Perhaps the milk had soured, though it hadn’t tasted or smelled off. I’d slept poorly since leaving England. I just needed to get to bed. I pushed the discomfort from my mind and reached above the table to grab a copper wash basin from the shelf. A stabbing pain lanced through my gut. I stumbled backward, falling over the bench. The bowl clambered from my hands and tumbled on the ground.

  I pressed the area beneath my navel. I could barely breathe. I gasped as another spear point gored me through. I rolled into a ball; my eyes closed tight. I’d had food sickness before, but this rivaled anything I’d experienced.

  The pain ebbed enough for me to find purchase on my hands and knees. My hair plastered my face. Sweat dripped from my body.

  I prayed to the Goddess for help. Surely, Gwgon had a leech, but how could I get to him? I looked to the window. If I cried out, would someone hear me? I caught movement. Someone was there, watching. “Help me!”

  I tried to lift myself. I grabbed hold of the bench and caught sight of my arm. For a moment I stared, and then pain cracked across my skin. Fire. Flames seared my flesh. I tried to snuff them out in the dirt. I dug and burrowed my arm beneath the rushes, but my hair caught. I smelled the acrid stench.

  I screamed. I was trapped in the weaving shed with Halfdan, and he was torturing me. I begged him to stop. The brands, hot and fiery red, pressed against my feet. My skin puckered, blistering. I cried out, writhing against the pain. I thrashed, desperate. My head locked, pinned by the wooden stake, my hands pinioned. His laugh curdled in my stomach, his tone vicious. “Let me show you what we do to spies.” Flames licked at my hair. Smoke curled. The cottage alight. Heat engulfed me.

  Muirgen twisted and squirmed. The rope tightened around her neck. Demas’s knife cut into her flesh. No! I reached out to her, but Vikings crashed into my shield.

  “Hold,” I ordered my men. We lost ground. Our shield wall buckled. An axe cleaved Leofric’s face in two. He crumpled to the earth. I tried to get to him. I couldn’t stop it. I’d failed my men. The press closed in, their advance too strong. “Watch out,” I yelled, but Wulfric looked up. He didn’t expect an attack from behind. Sigberht gutted him through. Wulfric fell. Demas laughed. “We can’t have any witnesses.”

  Pain seared through me. My father’s intestines spilled onto the ground. They slithered and pooled in the dirt. He lay upon a pallet. Edward lay unconscious on the ground. “Bastard.” I lunged. I brought the knife down. Demas shrieked and writhed. I kicked at the stub of flesh. His scalp, bloody and warm, gave way to my hand. The door opened. Sigberht’s eyes found mine. Wood slammed against the bed. I ran. The world was on fire. The night glowed red. The heat burned my face. My hair was on fire. “Put it out. Put it out!” I kicked and flailed.

  “Avelynn. Avelynn.”

  Hands shook me. Cold water splashed my face. I sputtered, gasping. The fire faded. The night gave way to Alrik’s eyes, wide with terror, his face pale as snow.

  His hands cradled my face, holding my gaze. “It is not real, hjartað. It is not real. There is no fire.”

  I blinked at him and looked down at my hand, the flesh normal, cool. I reached up and touched my hair. It was all there, not a strand or lock burnt off. Dear gods. I shook like a leaf. Each nightmare had flashed before me. No, it had been worse than a dream or a memory. It was as if I relived them, thrown back into my body with a violence that tore me asunder. Visceral and helpless, I’d been a slave to the power of the experience. The fear I saw in Alrik’s eyes reflected my own. I didn’t know what had just happened, but I couldn’t stop it, and I didn’t know if it would happen again. I sat up, my legs curled beneath me. The room swayed, and the nausea crested. Pain doubled me over, and my stomach revolted. “Outside.” The urgency in my voice prompted Alrik to lift me and carry me out the door.

  “Trees.”

  He had barely enough time to reach the cover of hedgerow before I leapt from his arms. I lifted my skirts and vomited, my bowels emptying violently at the same time. I clung to a tree, my forehead grinding into the bark, my eyes pressed tight. Wave after wave of cleansing brought me to my knees until there was nothing left in my body. When I felt I could move without incident and only dry heaves burned my throat, I wiped myself clean with moss and fell exhausted into Alrik’s arms.

  I woke and groaned, curling on my side. It felt as though my insides had been ripped out and splayed on the bed beside me.

  Alrik’s hand was cool against my forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  “All right,” I managed through gritted teeth.

  His clear blue eyes assessed me. “You do not look all right.”

  “No,” I conceded, “but I will be.” I sat up gingerly, leaning my back and head against the thick headboard. My mouth was as dry as sand. “Can you get me a drink, please?”

  He rose and poured a cup of mead, handing it to me. I took a sip, the cool liquid soothing the flames in my throat. I looked into the cup, and my stomach bottomed back out.

  “The honeyed milk.”

  Two feather-light blond eyebrows drew together.
>
  I looked at the cauldron. “Is there anything left in the pot?”

  He rose to look inside. “Whatever it was has boiled dry.”

  “I think there was something in the drink.” I jolted forward, and my gut lurched. “I need to speak with Nest. She said a lady at court dropped off the water clock. She didn’t recognize the woman. Maybe Marared slipped a potion into the milk.” I knew Alrik wouldn’t be able to follow my urgent ramblings, but he picked out the one thing he could understand.

  “What has Marared to do with this?”

  “She told me I had three days to leave, and lo and behold, a water clock appears on my table. She was very clear with her threat and the repercussions I would face if I didn’t heed it. Then she is accused of witchcraft in front of the entire hall, and I am stricken with illness.” I didn’t bother getting into the depth of the hallucinations. “I overheard Sigy and Marared discussing poison. Either there was something in that milk, or Marared is capable of sorcery.”

  “She would not do this. You do not know her like I do. The milk must have soured.”

  Incredulity boiled to the surface. “I think in this matter, I may know her better than you, but feel free to enlighten me.”

  His jaw clenched, and he filled a horn with wine, but after looking at the empty cauldron, seemed to reconsider his decision. He caught my heated stare and poured the drink, taking a long, deep swallow. “Who is the Englishman to you?”

  “Truly? You wish to discuss this now?”

  “Yes.”

  “A friend.”

  “A friend who just happened to have his hands up your skirt.”

  “How dare you throw this back at me. If you won’t answer my questions about Marared, I see no reason to enlighten you about Eadfrith.”

  “Then we are done here.”

  “Fine.”

  The plank door slammed hard. I picked up my cup and threw it after him.

  Mid-morning, I finally managed to stumble outside. The manor bustled. My legs shook from my ordeal, and I trod through the shifting multitude. A servant ran past, bumping me in the arm, knocking me off balance in his haste. I stopped and surveyed the chaos around me. Something was amiss. This didn’t appear to be the normal day-to-day rush of feast preparations. Everyone I passed spoke animatedly, but they all conversed in Welsh, effectively keeping me in the dark as to what had happened. Had Rhodri marched closer? Would the conflict start sooner?

  I spied a tall, flaxen-blond head. Tollak. I made my way through the press of people, tapping him on the arm. “What is it? What’s going on?”

  He pointed to the edge of the manor grounds. “A girl. Her throat’s been cut. They found her halfway down the hillside.”

  A stone sank in my gut. “Who?”

  He shrugged. “A servant, I think.”

  I pushed to the front of the gathered mass. Several men milled about, but I caught sight of Alrik deep in conversation with Angharad. I maneuvered closer, squeezing between several impertinent and tightly packed onlookers. I glanced down at the body, not needing confirmation, though it was indeed Nest. Father Llewelyn pulled a cloth up and over her head.

  Angharad embraced me and then pushed me away, holding me at arm’s length. “Are you supposed to be up? You should be abed.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She waggled a finger at me. “Alrik told me what happened—you shouldn’t be here.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “And what was that?”

  “That you were ill,” Alrik said, his face stern.

  “Ah.” I turned to Angharad. “There’s plenty more to that story, but I’m fine. Just drank some milk that had soured.”

  Her gaze flitted between Alrik and me, one eye squinting in measured calculation. “I’ll make sure someone speaks with our chamberlain. That should never have happened.”

  “It’s quite all right. No harm done.” I stopped glaring at Alrik and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry about Nest.”

  “I saw her this morning. She tied my hair and went to fetch more silk for a dress I’ve been working on. She never came back.” She looked down at the body; blood had started to seep through the thick fabric, leaving a dark wet spot at her neck. “I can’t imagine who would do such a thing. She was a lovely creature. No one knows of any ill words or deeds tossed her way.”

  “A jilted lover perhaps?” Gwgon joined our party and shook Alrik’s hand.

  Angharad shot down his suggestion with a reproachful look.

  “Or a witch?” Llewelyn inserted himself in our conversation. “I warned you, my lord. This is the devil’s work. Mark my words.”

  Several people turned and began whispering amongst themselves. Gwgon cleared his throat. “That’s enough, Father. I will not have any more of this damning talk.”

  Angharad laid a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “Thank you for the warning, Father. We will keep it under advisement.”

  Llewelyn shot Gwgon a scathing look. “I am glad someone heeds the word of God.” He spun on his heel and pushed through the crowd.

  Angharad sighed. “We need to get her cleaned up. I sent a messenger to inform her parents.”

  Gwgon nodded. “They are of course entitled to her blood price, and since she was under our ward, her foster price as well. I have no words of comfort to provide them. No one saw anything, and I have no leads on who might have done this.”

  Like Llewelyn, I certainly had my suspicions.

  I caught Alrik’s warning glance and clenched my jaw.

  “See to the girl’s body.” Gwgon bowed to us. “Excuse me.”

  Angharad mustered a few men, who placed Nest’s body on a pallet. The crowd parted and followed as the men carried her to a cottage where mourners would prepare the body for her cortege home.

  Angharad returned to my side. “Will you join me? I am in need of a strong drink.”

  “I just need …” I looked for Alrik, but he had slipped away through the crowd.

  “What’s going on between you two?” Angharad’s eyebrows creased together.

  I rolled my neck, releasing a few pops and cracks, and forced a smile through pinched lips. “I’m in need of a strong drink, too.”

  We sat in Angharad’s chambers, the servants dismissed, the hearth crackling, and an empty jug of wine between us. I had just finished telling her all that had happened and my suspicions on the matter. She regarded me above the rim of her cup, her eyes like green tourmaline, assessing.

  “That is quite the accusation,” she said finally.

  “I know, but I can’t help the events. Marared wants me to leave. She threatened to hurt me if I didn’t, and now the only one who might have been able to tell us if the milk was tampered with is dead. What am I to believe?”

  “Do you believe she is capable of magic?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And she is supposed to marry my brother?”

  I’d forgotten that part. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any proof of her involvement in Nest’s death or her claims of magic or know whether she poisoned me.”

  A knock at the door interrupted our speculations. Angharad rose to open it, a slight lean to her step. She locked the door after and returned to the table, a letter in her hand. “For you.”

  I recognized Alrik’s handwriting. I opened it and frowned.

  “What is it?” Angharad leaned forward, and I handed the letter to her.

  Her eyebrows drew closer. “If Marared was in the company of several women all morning, who killed the girl?”

  I reread the note again. “I don’t know.” I was so sure of my convictions. “If her hand didn’t brandish the blade, she still could have paid or threatened someone to do it for her.”

  Angharad shrugged. “I’m afraid the more speculation you add to your accusations, the more watered down and less conceivable the entire plot. I think for now, we had best lay one specter to rest. Marared did not, in cold blood, murder Nest.” She emptied the last dregs of the wine into her cup. “Therefore,
the matter of the heartless wretch that killed her still needs to be resolved.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She straightened her shoulders and patted the seat beside her. “It’s done. Now, enough talk of death and murder for one day. What’s going on between you and your Viking?”

  I grabbed my cup and joined her. “Alrik feels it unjustified that I blame Marared for what happened to me.”

  “A concession perhaps that he might have been right?”

  I swallowed another mouthful and shook my head. “Someone tampered with the milk; I’m certain of it. Sigy is good with plants, and Marared supposedly learned from the fiercest witch in all of Wales. The sensation and illness proved much worse, the decoction decidedly slanted toward hallucinations, but the more I think on it, it was not unlike what I experienced with Muirgen’s laced wine. Each time I ingested the stuff, I couldn’t tell the difference between where I lay and what I experienced in the moment. It all seemed real. The water clock ticked off three days—the precise amount of time in Marared’s threat. I will not be swayed on my suspicions that she induced my illness, whether through Otherworldly means or poison. I’m confident her threat to me was in no way deterred by Alrik’s well-intentioned discourse on the matter. In light of recent evidence, I will however concede that she did not personally kill the girl.”

  “What do you think transpired between the two of them?”

  “Alrik clearly loved Marared at one time, or cared enough for her to overlook her instability.”

  “Perhaps you should leave Wales.”

  “I can’t leave Alrik.”

  “But he could meet up with you after the conflict with Rhodri is finished. You could be safely away from Marared and her threats.”

  “True, but I’d be giving her exactly what she wanted, a chance to get Alrik back in her clutches.”

  Angharad laughed. “You have little to worry about on that front. The girl is a shadow to your beauty and spirit. Alrik will not be turned from your bed or your heart.”

  I wasn’t so certain about that, given all that had transpired.

  “I know I wouldn’t.” She leaned forward. Her lips hovered over mine.