Avelynn: The Edge of Faith

by Marissa Campbell

  I frowned. “Why do you care so much?”

  He paced away from me and then returned, a look of exasperation on his face. “Because I want to be with you.”

  “Eadfrith, I—”

  He cupped my face in his hands. “Come with me. I can’t bear to leave you here.”

  It happened so quickly, I didn’t realize what had started until it finished. His lips fell upon mine, as soft as a whisper, and for a moment I stood there, dazed. Then I felt his abrupt withdrawal and saw him canter, sprawling to the ground. Alrik charged in a blind rage after him. Eadfrith recovered, stood, and wiped at the thick blood oozing from his nose.

  “You were lucky you were so close to the lady, or your face would be plastered to the back of your skull.”

  Eadfrith spat, and the two circled one another. “Enough.” I yelled, stepping between them.

  “Move, Avelynn.” Alrik growled.

  “I will not.”

  “I will not see you hurt. Move away, Avelynn. Alrik and I have some business to discuss.”

  I slapped Eadfrith hard across the face. He stepped back, stunned. “I am no one’s business.”

  I caught Alrik’s bemused grin just long enough for me to slap it off his face. His cheek glowed a hot red from my palm, and my hand stung. “And you! I will not be treated like your property, or one of your men to control. You asked me to trust you. I demand the same.” I threw my hands up. “I’m done with the both of you. Kill each other for all I care.” I turned my back on their dazed faces.

  I found my way to the heaving mass of bodies getting ready to march north. That night in the cottage, when Alrik had bared his soul and pleaded his reasons for staying in Wales, his words had touched me deeply. He was trying to help me, and in his own way, his actions told me he cared, but they were convoluted and misguided. He tested the limits of my understanding and patience. I didn’t need him making decisions for me; I needed him to trust my judgement. I needed him to trust me.

  I told Alrik that Eadfrith meant nothing to me, and it was the truth. What on earth possessed him to kiss me? Foolish, childish men. And Alrik, rushing into the fray like a berserker. I felt like a rope tugged between two butting rams.

  Someone nudged my shoulder. “You’ve dropped something.”

  “Pardon?” A hooded figure in an indigo cloak bumped and collided through the press. Several people looked back in my direction. I scanned the dirt at my feet. A cold chill swept up my spine. A morð lay against my boot—an effigy of hay and twine. Part of the arm and half the face had been burnt off. Two iron nails drove through the hay beneath its belt. I backed up, ready to scream.

  “Shhh.” A hand found my mouth. I spun around in panic. Alrik stared straight ahead. “Pick it up. Do not let anyone see. Place it under your cloak.”

  “But …” I didn’t want to touch it.

  “Hurry, before someone else spies it.”

  I bent down, turning my back to the curious crowd, and retrieved it with trembling hands. I tucked it under my cloak, setting it against my pounding heart.

  I didn’t bother asking how he’d seen the ill omen, or what had happened in the forest after I’d left him and Eadfrith to sort out their differences. I was grateful for his solid, steady presence. “Get it away from me.” I whispered under my breath.

  “Not here.”

  He led me back to my cottage. Safely away from onlookers, I placed it on the table. We stared at the wretched thing. “What am I supposed to do with it?” I wanted it destroyed.

  Alrik poked at it and pulled a fine strand of thread away from the cord that cinched in the waist. He held it up to the light from the window. “Hair.”

  The color matched a little too close for my comfort.

  “I suspect it is yours.”

  Instinctively, I reached for my head. “But how?”

  He lifted a stray strand clinging to the fine wool of my kirtle. “Someone merely had to brush against you to collect any that had fallen, or perhaps bump into you to steal a lock.” He examined my tresses. “Here.”

  I craned my head to look. A small section underneath the top layer of hair at the back ended in a sharp stub, its length hacked clean away. When had that happened? I tried to think back whether I’d noticed anything strange. With so much hair, as long as the person didn’t pull, I wasn’t likely to feel a thing.

  My blood ran cold. If Marared was truly capable of magic … I didn’t want to believe it, but the effigy mimicked the symptoms of the illness, right down to the flames engulfing my arm and hair. “Did you tell anyone of my sickness?”

  “Angharad asked after you. I told her you were ill, nothing more.”

  Perhaps it was time to concede that other factions, other mysteries, might be at work here. “Thank you for being here.” I chanced a discrete look at his face. His cheek was no longer red. “I’m sorry for … earlier.”

  “I had no right to interfere.”

  “Alrik, Eadfrith means nothing to me. He kissed me out of nowhere. I didn’t even have time to react before you settled the situation for me. I don’t know what came over him.”

  “Have you not seen the way the wretch looks at you?”

  “We are friends.”

  “To a man, there is no such thing. There is only opportunity.”

  “Do you not trust me? You’ve asked for the same condition from me. You need to trust that I can handle myself. That I’m yours. There is no one else who holds my heart.”

  “I have never had a woman drive me to distraction as you have done. I do not know whether to throw you across my lap and smack you senseless or rut you thoroughly.”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation I found myself in, just the thought of Alrik rutting me thoroughly sent waves of desire washing over me. I cleared my throat. “I think it’s time I look for some advice.”

  His lips held a hint of amusement, and I knew he realized his words had awakened something. He moved closer, his arm brushing against mine. “How?”

  I ignored the fresh scent of his tunic and the deeper bass of musk that clawed at my arousal. “I need to see if there is something in Muirgen’s book that might help.” I seemed to recall something vague about protection, but it had been so long.

  A knock on the door redirected our attention. Alrik released the lock and peered outside. He turned to me. “Angharad.”

  I nodded, relieved. “Send her in.”

  His eyes questioned whether I was sure.

  “She knows of my past.”

  He pulled the door back and allowed her entry. “I will hasten the men. See what you can find.”

  “Thank you.”

  He retreated, closing the door, and I locked it behind him.

  “What is that?” Angharad pointed to the hay figure on the table.

  “You had better sit down.” She complied, and I filled her in on the fight with Alrik, the kiss in the forest with Eadfrith, the hooded figure blending into the crowd, and finally the effigy. “I need a way to counteract the magic, or at least protect myself from it.”

  My personal belongings waited in a pile, ready to embark on the next leg of our journey, and I retrieved my chest. I fished the key from my satchel and released the lock.

  “How?” she asked.

  I placed the book on the table, keeping a wide berth from the morð. “I remember a story of an evil queen who drank the blood of others, sacrificing them to the dark gods. Creatures, really. It was a tale of warning. The creatures stood for all the sickness and hatred of humanity.”

  I leafed through the pages, settling near the back of the book. I ran a finger over the brilliant design—an illuminated drawing of a woman dressed in fine gold robes, holding a staff with a cow’s skull on top. A dark outline haloed her body. Her eyes were black as pitch.

  “We each have a light and dark side within us. Just as we have love, there is also hate; pain, but also joy. We choose the path to follow. When we honor the Goddess, the path is bathed in light, but we each have acces
s to greed and vengeance. Ambition can lead us astray. Those that follow the darkness are consumed by it. It eats away their soul. They become darkness itself.”

  “It sounds like a tale told to children to make them behave.” She craned her head over my shoulder to have a better look.

  “Yes, but the warning here is real.” The woman stood on a pedestal, and I pointed to the words inscribed on its surface. “Beware the power of darkness.” There were scribbles in the margin. I turned the book on its side to read the tiny print. I read the instructions aloud. “‘Find three stones: one of pure white, one of jet, and one amethyst. They will provide the wearer with protection.’”

  “I can gather those easily enough, but how does the darkness give one powers? How can someone use it to affect others or control events like …” She grimaced and lifted her chin toward the morð.

  “Curses, spells, and hexes. Those are the weapons of a witch.”

  “Have you found the stones?” Alrik asked Angharad.

  Close to noon, the army made ready to leave Dinefwr, but the three of us huddled around the table, the morð iniquitous between us.

  I held the stones out to Alrik. “Angharad has provided an amethyst pendant and a curious white crystal.”

  Angharad brushed her fingers across the coarse surface of the stone. “It was a gift to my mother from a monk traveling from the east. He had many curiosities in his collection. My mother took a shining to this one.”

  The gem was round and smooth, no bigger than my thumb nail. The crystal had a hole drilled through the center. It looked like a pendant, but it was large, as long and thick as my thumb. I’d never seen a talisman like it. “How am I to wear it without drawing attention to it?”

  “Use this.” Alrik rummaged in his satchel and pulled out a thin lace of deer pelt. He threaded the soft leather through the stone and tied the ends.

  I lifted both the amethyst and crystal over my head. The stone settled near my sternum, and I tucked it beneath my kirtle. The gem sat higher, between my collarbones.

  “What of the third stone?” Alrik asked.

  “I will find it,” Angharad said. “I just need more time.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She smiled and gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I returned my attention to the matter at hand. “I want this destroyed,” I said, pointing to the morð.

  “Can it be done safely?” Angharad asked. “Destroying it might … hurt you further.”

  “I’m sure if it was still efficacious, I would continue to experience the pain.” I pointed to the iron nails driven through the hay. At least I hoped that was the case.

  “Was there anything in Muirgen’s book about how to destroy it?” Alrik said.

  While Angharad had been running about finding the protective stones, I had pored through the book, looking for answers. “There’s a section on charms and fertility blessings. Nothing specific to curses or magic, but I think I found something useful.”

  I pulled the book closer and scanned the page. I read the section aloud: “Beware the harlots and child-murderers, whoremongers, witches, and slain-choosers for they sing over herbs, make deals with the dead, and whisper evil and wizardry to the wind. Cast them out. Drown them in the river. Bury them alive.”

  It was set apart from the rest of the text. “It’s a proclamation from a king’s charter, rewritten as a warning. Muirgen obviously included it here as a reminder to remain silent and keep our faith a secret.” It had nothing to do with the morð but it gave me an idea.

  “How is that supposed to help?” Angharad pressed closer. Her breasts nestled against my back. I could smell the fresh, soothing scent of lavender. I flushed and looked at Alrik. I hadn’t told him what had happened between me and Angharad. I hadn’t meant to hide it from him, but with everything that had happened, it had slipped my mind. I wondered if, like Regin, he would enjoy watching.

  The flush fanned outward, and I put a little distance between me and Angharad. “I’m going to bury it and try saying an incantation over it.” I turned the page. “This passage explains how to rid oneself of wrongdoing.” I pointed to a scattering of words scrawled in the margin. It was written in Muirgen’s hand: “To ward off evil.”

  “Mother, protect me; cast your eye upon …” There was a blank space, intended for a name. “Hinder their actions.” I studied the cipher before continuing. “Bind their tongue. Block the evil from whence it comes.”

  “This is meant to be addressed to someone specific,” Angharad said.

  I refused to catch Alrik’s eye. “Since we still do not have proof it’s Marared, I’m sure we can alter it to apply to an evildoer in general.”

  “Do not stoop so low as to retaliate in kind. It is beneath you,” Alrik warned.

  I grumbled under my breath but nodded my assent. For now. If Marared’s hostilities continued, there would come a time when skirting around the issue would no longer be acceptable. I would fight my way out of a corner if pushed. “Fine. Then let me get to it.”

  Alrik and Angharad moved to the bench and waited.

  I banked the fire. With my knife, I dug a small hole in the dirt of the hearth. Slowly and systematically, I pulled the hair away from the hay, watching and sensing for any ill effects. When nothing out of the ordinary happened, I set the disparate pieces in the recess.

  I articulated each word, assuring Alrik that I did not use Marared’s name. “Mother, protect me. Cast your eye upon those who would trespass against me. Hinder their actions. Bind their tongues. Block the evil from whence it comes. So I will it, so shall it be done.”

  I piled dirt over top and set the fire back in its place. In time, the heat and flames would disintegrate the thing further, until it disappeared altogether.

  Angharad glanced down at the hearth. “Is that all?”

  “That’s all I can find. I don’t know what else to do.”

  Alrik kissed the top of my head. “It is enough.”

  I set the book back in the chest, locked it, and handed the chest to Alrik.

  He tucked it under his arm. “I will send a page to collect the rest of your belongings.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alrik left, and Angharad closed the door behind him. “If it is magic, have you thought of fighting back? Beat her at her own game?”

  “I’ve not ruled it out. But I’ve never done anything like that before. Let’s hope the stones and incantation work.”

  Angharad shook her head. “I need to warn my brother. The betrothal must be stopped.”

  “And base the decision on what? I have no proof of any wrongdoing on Marared’s part.”

  “This is madness. You and I both know the woman is guilty of some or all of this.”

  “There might be something. It’s murky at best, but …”

  “What?”

  “I overheard Sigy and Marared. I believe there is a threat to Gwgon’s life.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me of this sooner?”

  Lost in my scattered thoughts and current dilemma, I’d let Angharad down. “I worried I might have overreacted, or read too much into it. They were careful to avoid saying anything explicit. It was more the tone and the implication. I still have nothing to go on. Connecting Marared with any wrongdoing is like trying to pin down wisps of smoke with a bow and arrow.” I told her what I’d heard.

  “The woman’s audacity knows no bounds! We need to speak with my brother immediately.”

  Before I could protest, Angharad dragged me toward the hall. Gwgon’s private chamber was sparse but regally appointed. A large bed, the headboard carved with exquisite scrollwork, pressed up against the farthest wall. End tables, scattered about, supported several beeswax candles. Wall hangings covered the walls, and a large painted shield crossed by two spears hung behind Gwgon’s chair. Intricately detailed and heavy of oak, the king’s chair exuded power. Two stools, utilitarian and without ornament, sat opposite, dwarfed by a thick plank table.

  “Now.” He int
erlaced his fingers, setting his hands in front of him. “What is this urgent matter you needed to speak with me about?”

  Would Gwgon believe my story? He took his sister’s word for my virtue and innocence on nothing more than faith. He owed me nothing, knew me from nowhere. “Alrik is heathen.”

  Gwgon raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

  “But you do not have any problem associating with him.”

  “I respect him as a warrior and am happy to have his allegiance.”

  “But the fact he is pagan, this doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

  “We are devout Christians.” He gestured to himself and Angharad. “But I am not fool enough to believe all those that inhabit this earth follow Christ. I believe, however, in time, even the heathens will see the light. Until then, I do not condone their faith, but I will not persecute them for it.”

  I leapt into the fire. “Does your clemency apply also to witchcraft?”

  He leaned back in his chair and glanced at his sister. “Are you implying the rumors about you are in fact true?” His hand rose to the gold cross hanging from a beaded thread around his neck.

  “I am referring to your future bride.”

  “Father Llewelyn has apologized for his outburst.”

  Angharad jumped to my aid. “There is more support to the priest’s accusations. Remember when Avelynn fell ill? We thought it was milk from our buttery that had turned sour.”

  “Yes.” His eyebrows drew together like bushy caterpillars.

  “Later the next day, Avelynn found an effigy with iron nails driven into its chest. It was made from her hair.”

  “Jesu.” He made the sign of the cross.

  I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table. “Marared does not share her mother’s desire to see the two of you wed. She wants to marry Alrik, and in her mind, I am”—I thought of Demas’s words—“a considerable louse she can’t seem to shake.” The memory brought back anger, frustration, and a strong desire to put an end to Marared’s games. “She has repeatedly threatened me and wants me to leave Wales. She gifted me with a crude wax effigy and warned that matters would worsen if I did not heed her threat. Unfortunately, despite my suspicions on the matter, the existence of the morð does not implicate Marared by itself, and so far, her animosity has been directed only at me. But I thought you might be interested in a conversation I overheard.”