Avelynn: The Edge of Faith

by Marissa Campbell

  “Thank you.” I examined the point and slid it back in the scabbard. While small, the blade was deadly. Following Angharad’s example, I tucked it down the side of my boot and tied it around my leg. I wished I had a sword. There was no way of knowing what manner of people I would meet along the way, including the possibility of running afoul of Sigberht.

  She removed a piece of parchment from her satchel. “I’m sure Sister Frances will sympathize with your plight, but just in case, take this note. I’ve corroborated your story and asked for her assistance. I’ve given my assurance that the convent will receive a substantial gift from Rhodri upon your safe delivery to the continent.”

  I took the note and placed it in one of the satchels. “Thank you, but I don’t mean to go to the continent just yet.”

  She looked at me, stunned. “What do you mean?”

  “I won’t leave without Alrik.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “He believes me dead. He’ll try to kill Hyffaid and anyone else who stands in his way. If he manages to survive, his brother lies in wait for the outcome. I can’t leave him.” Once I reached Bangor, I planned to appeal to the good sister for help in returning to Seisyllwg undetected. I didn’t speak Welsh, and foreigners—no matter where you lived—were treated with suspicion. If I continued to travel on foot over such a formidable distance, with no idea of where I was going and without any means to ask the locals how to get there, people would take notice. If by the grace of the gods I managed to elude Sigberht in Gwynedd, it would only be a matter of time before someone discovered my whereabouts. Even without those trivial concerns, time fought against me. I had to find the means of reaching Alrik quickly. Every hour spent trying to get to him was too long.

  “For all you know, they could have waged the battle against Hyffaid. Alrik could be dead.”

  She’d said it as a matter of fact. My stomach constricted. It was possible, but I refused to believe it. I shook my head. “We’ve been gone only two days.” I prayed that worked in my favor rather than against me. I searched her beautiful eyes. “I have to go back. He doesn’t even know I’m alive.”

  She seemed to be weighing her next words. I made the decision easy for her. “I have to go to him. Nothing can change my mind.”

  She pursed her lips but nodded. “Be careful.”

  I hugged her. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  She brushed my cheek with the back of her hand. “Find Alrik and make it away from Wales. Do that for me.”

  “I will always remember you.”

  Her eyes misted.

  I leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips.

  She held me tight before drawing away and opened the door. “Hurry.”

  Darkness enveloped the manor. Only the glow of a weak gibbous moon guided me. I had to take its light moment by moment as the clouds skimmed by, blocking it from view. There were twenty paces between the back wall of the cottage and the stables. After the stables, it was wide open to the harbor.

  If I thought I could make it over land without attracting notice, I would have grabbed a horse and run. Going by sea was equally foolhardy. If Sigberht caught on to my escape, I would never outrun a fully manned ship.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have to beat him; I just needed to float by, right under his nose, and get a head start. But I had no idea how long it would take for one person to row that distance. Could I make it to the strait before first light? I wasn’t optimistic of my chances, but what choice did I have? I couldn’t stay there.

  I studied the distance between the stable and cottage. I didn’t see anyone coming, but twenty paces was a lot of ground to cover when you had to be invisible. I sent a silent plea to the Goddess and ran.

  Blood pumped in my ears, and my back pressed tight against the wood, safe on the other side. I crouched, panting, trying to catch my breath. Sweat pooled along my forehead and dripped down my temples. The moon shone visible now, the courtyard empty. A band of silver ocean rippled ahead of me. Inching my way closer to shore, I kept to the line of trees that skirted the harbor. I searched the bank for the small boat Angharad had promised would be there. Groping blindly, it was easy to trip over rocks and driftwood. In the weak light, I could make out only shapes and outlines. After several panicked and fruitless minutes of searching, I stumbled across the boat’s frame.

  I removed my cloak and set it inside the shallow-hulled vessel. I hitched my dress above my waist and secured the fabric with my belt. A brisk wind whipped around my legs. Careful to avoid noise, I dragged the boat into the frigid water until the waves lapped at my naked thighs. I lifted myself into the wobbling craft and clambered over the side. The boat tipped dangerously with my weight, but once I flopped into the center, the rolling settled.

  Dress righted, I grabbed the oars and rowed out to sea. My heart pulsed with each slap of the oars. Would someone hear it?

  Voices carried through the breeze. I gripped the oars tighter and increased the pace.

  I rowed far enough out to avoid rocks and crags, but not so far that I would lose my bearings.

  I tried to keep my pace consistent, but after a few hours, my back and arms ached, my hands clammy with sweat. After my altercation with Sigberht, my body screamed to stop. I pushed the discomfort aside; dawn loomed a couple of hours away.

  The moon scuttled through the clouds, keeping the dark outline of land within sight. No matter how hard I had tried to commit the shape of the coast to memory when I was held captive on the Welsh ship, at the moment, I didn’t know where I was or how far away the strait remained.

  Each strike of the oars chimed off the minutes I had left until dawn. The sea rolled calm, and the weather held clear. I thanked the Goddess for her beneficence. But despite the gentle rolling of the waves against the sides of the curragh, my mind thrashed in turmoil. Two days. The battle with Hyffaid could have raged. Alrik could be dead. Angharad’s voice echoed in the brined air, closing in on me. It became hard to breathe. After all I’d endured, I couldn’t give up hope now. My mother had appeared to me when she passed. I’d visited with Muirgen in the Otherworld. If I could commune with the dead, surely I would have felt or seen something if Alrik were gone. I looked into the roiling darkness. The question lit upon the tip of my tongue, but paralyzing fear drew it back. I would not ask the unseen forces if Alrik was alive. A tremor ran through me. I would make it back to Llanbadarn, and Alrik and I would leave Wales alive and well, once and for all. I gripped the oars tighter.

  After what seemed an eternity of rowing, and circuitous thoughts, the weak light illuminated two cliffs far apart from each other. A long, wide stretch of flat ground spanned between them. A delta. I peered through the darkness. It was far too small to be the strait, but judging by the faint tinge to the horizon, my veil of night was lifting. Praying this was an overland river, I pushed for shore.

  In the still hour before dawn, as the sky took on a pale, haunting glow, I rowed into the mouth of a wide, sandy bay. I scanned the dull pitch around me. I had no idea where the settlements were. There might be farmsteads or villages nearby. I had to find cover.

  A raven’s throaty caw caught my attention. It dived and swooped above me. Never one to ignore an omen, I steered the boat, following the black wings as they soared in flight. Just past first light, I turned into the river’s mouth.

  I didn’t see anyone as I surveyed the surrounding countryside, but that didn’t mean no one had seen me. The riverbed cut through the landscape, creating small grassy embankments on either side. Low shrubs and scattered trees offered little protection.

  I followed the winding route upstream until the trees thickened and exhaustion demanded my surrender. With arms as limp as seaweed, I dragged the curragh onto shore, tucking it in a low ditch. I concealed it with fallen branches and leaves. A short walk brought me out of the trees to scrub pasture land. A stone church tower peeked through the swaying grass, desolate in the distance.

  I frowned and turned back, a growing se
nse of urgency gnawing at my gut. I had to find somewhere to sleep. By now, Sigberht would be aware of my disappearance. My eye still ached. I touched the swollen flesh. He’d be furious. I hoped Rhodri received the price on my head first.

  The raven croaked. I craned my head to listen. It called again. I stumbled over roots and branches, following the sound. The bird perched on a small mound.

  It looked like a burrow. As I approached, the bird took flight. Had it been a messenger from the Goddess? Or perhaps my grandmother had sent it. The notion that they still watched over me gave me hope. I bent down and brushed leaves and twigs away from a narrow opening.

  Judging by the size of the pile and dryness of the debris, the detritus had been there at least since last fall. Most of the animals who hibernated would have awoken by now. I unsheathed the knife. The den appeared empty, but there was only one way to find out.

  I jabbed the knife in front of me, sweeping it side to side ahead of my body. I used my elbows to propel me forward as I crawled on my stomach. When the knife reached the back of the burrow and nothing had yelped, hissed, or growled, I exhaled in relief.

  I maneuvered into the tight space and lay down on my side, curling into a ball. I would ache from the inability to stretch out, but it was hidden, warm, and safe. Nothing could have felt more wonderful.

  When I woke, the light outside the burrow had dimmed. I emerged from my hiding place and scanned the quietude, grateful the swelling around my eye had diminished enough to have my full vision back. The aches and pains were another matter. From the altercation with Sigberht, to rowing, fleeing for my life, and sleeping in a tight wedge, every part of my body throbbed in protest. I was wound tighter than a spindle whorl.

  A gentle breeze lifted fluttering leaves. Insects buzzed. I scanned the river. I could try to row a little farther upstream—perhaps get closer to the road Angharad had spoken about—or follow the riverbed on foot. I didn’t know what the terrain would be like ahead. The river could open up and tumble into rapids, or I might face long expanses of scrub field with no hope of cover. I remembered the church I’d seen this morning and thought of Eadfrith’s pilgrimage to Rome. He’d suggested I borrow one of the nun’s robes to hide my identity. Maybe there was a monastery nearby. The possibility lifted my spirits.

  I climbed up the small embankment and stood within the shade of trees. I eyed the church as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. I could make out no other dwellings or buildings nearby. The odds of finding a cloister of nuns was remote at best. I supposed a monk’s robe would work just as well. They were loose fitting, and there would be no way to make out my gender in the heavy garments. I frowned. Short of stumbling upon a priest with his back turned and head bent in prayer, rendering him unconscious, and stealing his vestments, I wasn’t sure how I’d get my hands on his clothes. At this point, however, it was the best plan I had.

  I ate some of the food Angharad had packed in the satchel and waited for the sun to relinquish her hold on the land. I kept the church’s tower in sight until it disappeared into the inky sky. No moon peeked out from the thick down of clouds. It was pitch black. Only the faint, occasional flicker of light from a distant window called like a fairy’s fire, luring me to my death. It would be a dangerous journey across land I didn’t know and couldn’t see. I set out, the slow, careful walk taking me much longer than I’d expected, each moment chipping away at my hope.

  There were a few windows peeking out from the nave. They spilled warm candlelight onto the ground around the stone foundation. I peered inside. Several men knelt in front of the altar, observing the night vigil. With so many monks inside, there must be a dormitory. If I could find where they slept, I might be able to acquire a robe.

  The faint light from the windows stretched only so far. Beyond its reach, the blackness swallowed up the surroundings. I would have to wait until they stopped praying and made their way back to their beds.

  I kept to the shadows beyond the halo of pooling light and waited. When the night office ended, men shuffled across the courtyard, oil lamps in hand. I followed behind, watching the lights bob and dip through the air. I remained far enough distant that they wouldn’t hear my footfalls over the gentle swishing of their robes.

  The disembodied lights led me down a slight incline. They followed a well-worn path through farmland until they disappeared behind a solid oak door. With only a few hours before dawn, the priests would have to leave again for matins. There was no telling how many would leave or how many were in the dormitory to begin with. Conscious of every passing moment that Alrik’s neck lay in a noose, I resigned myself to the inevitable. I would have to wait until daylight, when the group would attend mass.

  I sank into my cloak, wrapping the fabric tight. The sturdy wood building blocked the wind, but the air was cold. Now that I’d stopped moving, the weight of my plight wore heavy on my shoulders. The chill seeped into my weary bones.

  A dark and moody sky lightened, threatening rain. I sought the shelter of a small shed, hiding behind sacks of grain. Fighting the desire to curl up and fall asleep, I kept a focused vigil on the dormitory, waiting for the exodus to begin. Finally, eight men shuffled up the hill together.

  I crept around the side of the building. The windows had been thrown open to let in a clearing breeze. I poked my head inside. The room was empty. I darted to the front door and tried the lock. Nothing.

  Unable to budge the heavy plank door, I returned to the window. With some grunting and hoisting, I tumbled inside. Despite the clumsy cacophony of my entry, another quick sweep of the beds assured me no one remained behind.

  I moved quickly through the chests at the end of each bed. The Goddess smiled upon me. I happened upon not only a robe, but a belt, a wooden cross, and a stash of bread and cheese. Wrapping my costume in a sheet of linen, I sent a silent thank you upwards, tucked my contraband under an arm, shoved the extra food in my satchel, and ran to the door.

  I froze. Blue eyes wide with shock locked onto mine, while thin lips framed an open mouth. I stumbled backward. The monk spoke in Welsh, the unanswered question hanging in the air.

  I brushed aside my kirtle and withdrew the knife from its scabbard. I took a step closer and held the point against the man’s chest. The tip of the steel rested against the gold of his cross. He dropped to his knees and rocked back and forth, praying.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said in English and glanced up the path. No one else followed. Yet. I grabbed his forearm and hauled him inside. He wore a simple braided cord belt. I untied it from his waist and wrapped it around his wrists. He continued his muttering and beseeching. I fished a length of fabric from one of the chests. It was a finely worked cloth, perhaps intended for a stole. Now, it served as a gag. I apologized again, but I couldn’t have him calling out for help. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t help either. I half pulled, half dragged him to one of the far beds. Using the remainder of the belt, I lashed him to one of the posts. I couldn’t kill an innocent man, but leaving him alive increased my chances of being caught. He’d seen my face, but at least he hadn’t seen what I was carrying.

  Hesitant to try the door again, I climbed out the window. A faint sound in the distance caught me up short: rhythmic thudding. The sound was unmistakable. Horses. They must be visiting the monastery. I ran for a low ditch. Clutching my absconded goods, I scrambled on hands and knees and hid behind a hawthorn bush.

  The horses passed within several feet of where I crouched, but rather than turn up toward the church, they continued on. I watched the last horse’s rump disappear around a bend. A well-traveled swath of dirt stretched before me. I’d found the road.

  I changed out of my kirtle and donned my new robe. I tried to draw the hood up, but it snagged and pulled at my hair. That gave me pause. Even with my hair tied back, it was still long, and clearly feminine. If anyone were to see it, it would give away the disguise. I closed my eyes and sought fortitude. I would need to cut it. At least I didn’t need a tonsure—Eadfrith had mana
ged to get away without one—but I would have to cut it above my ears.

  Sigberht would be looking for Avelynn, an English lady. If questioned, the monk I’d encountered would only corroborate that impression with the story of a strange woman traveling these parts.

  I took a deep breath in and pulled out my knife.

  The weather, which had been gracious so far, turned vengeful, with a cold wind and lashing rain. The hood of my cloak did little to keep the moisture out of my face. The hard-packed road became a muddy slide, and I kept to the grass along its edge.

  I was terrified someone would ride past and ask questions, demanding to know my business. Or worse, Sigberht and Rhodri would barrel down the road with a hundred men out for blood. Thank the Goddess, only a handful of riders passed by, and no one stopped to inquire about me or my travels. The weather did a fine job of pressing them onward to dry homes and warm hearths.

  I arrived at the strait by noon, a surprisingly short trek, and found a man willing to ferry me across the temperamental water. An Amazon of a woman hopped on the large, flat-bottomed boat, skeins, cart, oxen and all. After setting us on the opposite shore, I gave the ferryman a silver coin and followed the woman and her wares into the heart of Bangor. I tamped down the burgeoning sense of anticipation. I prayed Frances would aid my cause, but she owed me nothing. I hoped Ealhswith’s letter and Rhodri’s promise of gold would provide some security, if needed, though I had no intention of boarding a ship unless it was bound south for Seisyllwg.

  The town surrounding the church was small, but the monastic center was diverse and thriving. Buildings fanned outward, arranged symmetrically to the central cathedral. The construction materials ran the gamut of wattle and daub to horizontal planking to stone. Each structure was capped with either a wood or rush roof. The buildings themselves varied. Stables, dormitories, cattle sheds, goat sheds, kitchens, an infirmary, and hospice all fought for space between wooden pathways. Head bent to the rain, I followed a cluster of nuns scuttling to a long, narrow building. The stale, dank air inside told me I’d found the infirmary. I stepped back outside. Where there was an infirmary, the nuns’ quarters would be nearby.