Avelynn: The Edge of Faith

by Marissa Campbell

  I knocked on one of the larger cottages. A young woman in wimple and veil opened the door. She asked me something. I responded in English. She shook her head.

  I tried the one thing I hoped she would understand. “Sister Frances?”

  She pointed to herself and shook her head, but held up a finger asking me to wait. She hung my sodden cloak by the fire and motioned to one of the chairs in the room. I nodded and sat.

  When Frances floated into the room, I almost cried in gratitude and disbelief. Part of me had doubted I would ever make it this far. I didn’t know how or if she would help me, but in that moment, everything seemed possible.

  “I ask that I might speak with you in private. It is of the utmost sensitivity and urgency.”

  She raised an eyebrow but dismissed the nun from the room. “How can I help you, brother?”

  I removed my hood. “It’s me, Avelynn. We parted company at St. Dogmael’s. I left with your letter in hand to prove Branwen’s parentage. I ran afoul of some trouble. I’ve barely escaped with my life.”

  She sat. “Your hair. Your eye. You’re … dressed as a monk.”

  “I need your help.”

  “I imagine.”

  I told her of the treachery behind Gwgon’s death, my capture and subsequent escape, and my plan to get back to Seisyllwg to stop the massacre of innocent people. I left out the minor details like the witch trial.

  She absorbed it all in silence, only now and then interrupting to ask questions. When I finished, she stood. Afraid she was going to turn me in, or run for help, I stood also.

  Frances waved away my concern. “You have nothing to fear from me. How can I help?”

  My nerves teetered on edge. “I need access to a ship bound for Seisyllwg.”

  She nodded. “In two days’ time, the logboat docked at port will leave Bangor to travel to St. David’s. Filled with wool, wine, and timber from our own resources, it will stop at Towyn, Llanbadarn Fawr, and Nevern before it reaches St. David’s.”

  I clung to the one town I knew. “Llanbadarn. That’s where I was taken.”

  “Allowing for loading and unloading at each port, you would reach it by late evening.”

  It had been three days since Sigy set me aboard Rhodri’s ship. Could I wait another two? Alrik and his crew could already be dead. I nodded. There was no other way.

  I don’t know what story Frances told the crew to explain the addition of a traveling monk, but two days later, at the crack of dawn, I settled aboard a massive logboat en route to Llanbadarn. By noon, we docked at Towyn, the last sizable cluster of cottages in Gwynedd. I took the opportunity to find someone who spoke English, French, or Norse. I needed to know what was happening in Seisyllwg.

  The harbor was busy with several ships of various sizes and shapes cramming its shores. Men and monks alike relieved the ships of their disparate cargo. I stumbled upon a wool merchant from Francia who, after several cups of mead purchased from one of the many peasants hocking their wares, became rather loquacious.

  “Terrible business, that,” he said and belched into his hand.

  “What have you heard?” I asked, careful to keep the tone of my voice deep and low and my head bent. The swelling around my eye had eased, but I imagined it was still quite colorful.

  “There’s been a Viking attack on Llanbadarn. Loss of life on both sides. Heathen bastards.”

  Dread curdled in my stomach. Sigy’s plan was obviously working. Raven’s Blood and its crew must have rejoined Alrik. Who lay amongst the dead? My chest tightened. I couldn’t think on it. I needed to stop the struggle before it worsened. There was no way the logboat from Bangor would stop at Llanbadarn now. They would have to steer clear of the conflict. I was running out of time and options.

  “Where are you headed next?” If he was traveling south, perhaps he would allow me to accompany him. Sigberht wouldn’t be looking for two people.

  “I’m away to Ireland to try my luck there.”

  I frowned. I’d have to find another way.

  With the merchant’s superior Welsh language skills and kind assistance, I procured a sword and clothes, the first from a fine ironworker, the second from a fishmonger who literally gave me the clothes off his back for the silver I offered him. If the merchant wondered as to my purpose in acquiring lay clothes, he didn’t seem to care. He wished me well as he stumbled sideways off to his boat.

  I returned to the harbor wearing a cloak, trousers, and tunic, wishing I’d had the opportunity to wash the clothes first. Aside from the dirt and grime, the stench of sweat and dead fish permeated each and every fiber. I scanned the dock, trying to determine my next course of action.

  A great assembly pushed through the masses at the docks. I couldn’t make out everything they were saying, but I did make out a few stray words. Those alone made my skin crawl with fear. They were shouting. In English. I surveyed the crowd, dread confirmed.

  Sigberht marched with bloody purpose through the throng. His men forced their way onto each ship, checking holds and cargo bays for stowaways. They searched for a woman, possibly dressed as a monk. There was a generous reward of gold offered for her capture.

  I spun around, trying to determine a means of escape. If I ran, someone would take notice. Instead, I shuffled closer to a merchant selling bone combs and antler pieces, feigning interest in the intricate work.

  Sigberht continued to plow his way through the harbor, manhandling anyone with a cloak, ripping it off their heads. His sword, held firm in his grasp and raised in front of his body, kept any disgruntled comments free from his ears.

  I flipped the hood of my cloak down, exposing my shorn hair, which was slick with sweat and dirt. He stopped not five feet from where I stood. “You there, priest.” He removed the man’s hood. A bald head gleamed back at him. He growled, but spoke through gritted teeth. “Have you seen a woman traveling alone?” When the priest declined to answer, most likely due to a lack of knowledge of the language, Sigberht shoved him hard, sending him sprawling to the dirt. “Useless Welsh toad.” He shuffled off, continuing to issue his appeal of a woman for gold.

  My legs trembled as he passed. With the spectacle gone, the merchant, a plump woman with a protruding chin and a shrewd commercial acuity, turned her attention back to me. Afraid she would draw attention to the fact that I would not be able to converse with her, I pointed to the bone comb and produced a silver coin. She yammered on, shaking her head. I brought out another one. She pursed her lips. I followed suit, but added another pence to the pile. She smiled and held out her hand. Business done, I tucked the comb into my satchel and threaded my way through the crowd. I moved swiftly, ensuring I stayed opposite the direction in which Sigberht and his henchmen headed.

  Resisting the urge to glance behind me, I kept my pace brisk and followed a well-traveled road leading away from the village and heading east. With such a busy trade port, there had to be a way across the wide tidal river that cut Gwynedd off from Seisyllwg. I sent a prayer upward when I spied several crafts ferrying people and goods across the channel’s wide berth.

  After crossing the River Dyfi, I kept to the main road. With a strong sword once again strapped to my side and a tattered hood pulled over my head, I marched along the road unnoticed and unmolested. There were definite advantages to the world believing you were a man.

  I reached Llanbadarn by dusk. It had been five days since my capture. The manor looked like I’d last seen it, except lines had been drawn. The gates to the wooden palisade were closed. Men watched from platforms overlooking the upright spires, their bows ready.

  The Vikings and those who supported them camped beyond the reach of arrows in a sprawling mass of bodies and tents. With so many people milling about, my presence wasn’t questioned. I garnered little more than the occasional nod as I passed. My eyes swept the crowd, looking for Alrik, or anyone I recognized, praying to avoid Gil or Sigy at all costs.

  I noticed Cormac first, his tawny head towering over the native Welsh ar
ound him. At the moment, he was gesticulating madly and getting nowhere fast, thanks to a lack of understanding of the language.

  By the time I reached where he had stood, he had moved on, but I followed him through the crowd, not daring to call out. I caught up to him when he veered off the main road toward the river, fishing pole in hand. The trail wasn’t much wider than a deer path, and had probably only recently been created by the treading feet of the army seeking water and fish.

  I made it to a bend in the trail and stopped. A suspicious Viking brandished a broad sword, blocking my progress.

  I held up my hands. “It’s good to see you too, Cormac.”

  His face contorted. I figured he was trying to match the image to the voice. “Who are you?”

  “It’s me, Avelynn. I escaped from—”

  He clutched the talisman around his neck and stepped backward. “Be gone, phantom.”

  “Cormac, look at me. I know what you think you saw at the witch trial, but that wasn’t me.”

  He took a step back. He resembled a fawn staring into the eyes of pursuing hounds.

  “Sigy tricked everyone into thinking I was dead, but I wasn’t the one buried alive.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Sigy buried an innocent maid in my stead. Did you see the girl’s face? Can you swear on Odin’s eye that it was me placed in that grave?”

  He stalked closer, giving me a thorough once over. “Avelynn?”

  In a flurry of movement, he crushed me in a bear hug. I patted his back, as much in reassurance as in the need for him to let me go so I could breathe.

  He set me down. “I can’t believe it’s you. I thought we’d lost you for certain.” He looked to the treeline. “Alrik. He needs to see you.”

  “How is he?” I held my deepest fears at bay; my heart lodged in my throat.

  “The man’s gone and lost his head. He’s mad with grief. When Gil sent word for our return, we tried to convince Alrik to leave, to let the bastards fight it out amongst themselves, but he refused to go. He won’t quit until every one of Hyffaid’s supporters lie dead at his hand.”

  “I heard there were battles—loss of life on both sides.”

  He nodded. “Knut and Sven fell. May they feast at Odin’s table.”

  My heart ached with the senselessness of it all. All this death and loss due to Sigy’s vile ambitions.

  “I’ll take you to him.” Without waiting for my response, he clasped my wrist and set off.

  “I’m not going anywhere; you can leave go my arm.” I watched people pass by in a blur.

  He regarded my wrist, but wouldn’t release his hold. “I’d just as soon not let you out of my grasp.” He shook his head, eyeing me again over his shoulder. “What happened to your hair?”

  In what was becoming a tale worthy of a scop’s retelling, I told him everything—from Sigy’s plans, her aims for Dyfed, her betrayal of Gwgon. Her elaborate set-up of my death, my sale, capture, and subsequent escape. All the way down to the fishmonger who provided my present garb.

  He listened in stoic silence throughout the entire story, but his body seemed to ratchet higher, like a spring winding tighter as my tale drew closer to the end.

  We weaved through crowds mulling about campfires, laughing over drink, and sharing stories around sparse rations. A child ambled across our path and giggled as she watched me canter behind Cormac. Seeing the girl made me think of Branwen. I prayed for her welfare. I hoped she’d reached England safely.

  We wandered down the road, the sun setting behind the mountains to the north. The last rays of orange and gold lighted the sky. The full moon rose triumphantly to the east. Fitting, I thought, as we reached Alrik’s tent. We always met under the full moon.

  April 7

  Cormac poked his head in the tent. I waited.

  “It’s clear,” he said. “Just Alrik.” He nudged his chin, and I walked through beside him.

  “Alrik?” Cormac asked.

  “Aye.” Alrik sat at a table, his back toward us. The tent was dark. A single candle burned by the bed, silhouetting his body. Rhythmic strokes sharpened the blade of his sword.

  Cormac hung back. “I’ve brought someone you might be interested in seeing.”

  I stopped directly behind him.

  He looked at my profile. “What do you want?”

  My locked chest with its gold serpentine lid rested near his feet.

  I let my gaze wander to the single flame, watching as it bent and dipped. “We’re always meeting on full moons.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “I should hope so—I’ve shared your bed on numerous occasions.”

  He leapt up. “What is it you are accusing me of?” His sword swept high, whetstone forgotten as it fell to the ground.

  I took a step back. “Since when in Gotland is it a crime to sleep with one’s promised?”

  He looked to Cormac, a dark shadow by the tent’s entrance.

  Cormac drew closer. “Do you not recognize Avelynn? Sigy and Gil have fooled us all.”

  Alrik grabbed me by the shoulders and hauled me closer to the flame, letting its light bathe my features.

  Self-consciously, I fingered the hair on my head. “I had to cut it. It was the only way to get back to you.”

  He took a step back, as if stung by a bee, though he continued his death grip on my shoulder. “Avelynn?”

  “I’m here.”

  “On Odin’s eye. How?” A tear slipped down his cheek, and he pulled me tight. “I thought you were … “

  “I know.”

  He kissed me long and hard, his strong, unfailing embrace raising me up.

  He brushed the short strands of hair from my forehead. “I imagine it is a long story.”

  I laughed. Hard. My eyes watered, and I had to hold my sides. I laughed at the ridiculousness of his statement, the incredulity of the past month, the euphoria and release of seeing him—of knowing he was alive. What might have ended in tears of pain erupted in rivulets of joy.

  When I could final speak, I answered, “Yes, Alrik. It certainly is.”

  We talked the entire night. He poured out his grief and guilt at almost losing me, and we held each other like we never wanted to let go. When dawn crested the horizon, bathing the landscape in her brilliant light, Alrik roused his men.

  I stood at his side while he explained my sudden deliverance. The more he spoke, the more I could feel the heat of vengeance, the lust of battle boil hard through his veins. His men sensed it too. The energy in the camp lifted to a frenzy as men rushed for swords and shields, spears and axes.

  As was protocol on a soggy Welsh Sunday morning, the Christians held mass, gathering around a wooden cross nailed and staked into the muddy, churned-up battlefield. Llewelyn’s abduction brought that morning’s assemblage to an immediate end.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Gil asked Tollak, who, along with Cormac, stood as sentry to Alrik’s tent. I was ensconced within the fabric walls but could hear everything transpiring outside.

  “Alrik wishes to speak to the priest.” Cormac said.

  “Why?”

  “He’s readying for battle,” Tollak answered.

  “Today? Are you certain? Has he spoken with Rhodri’s master of arms? Why was I not informed?”

  “He’ll send for you when he’s ready,” Tollak said.

  There was a moment of silence. I pictured Tollak and Cormac blocking Gil’s entry into the tent and Gil weighting his options.

  Gil pressed. “Why does he need the priest?”

  “Not sure,” Cormac said.

  “Fine,” Gil answered. “Tell him to find me at once. I will let my men know.”

  Several seconds later, Tollak stuck his head in the tent. “He’s gone.”

  Alrik nodded.

  Llewelyn crouched on his knees, his arms and feet tied behind his back, a gag in his mouth. Alrik removed the fabric and placed the tip of his sword on Llewelyn’s bottom lip. The plump flesh quivered. “So
tell me, priest. What did Sigy offer you to charge Avelynn with witchcraft?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Llewelyn mumbled, his conviction muffled by the placement of Alrik’s sword.

  “No?” I strode forward. “Remember me?” I crouched down in front of him, my nose an inch from his face. “Sigy told me everything. I know about your Bishopric and your bribe. You accused me of witchcraft to further your own aims. Vikings don’t like liars or cowards.”

  He blinked, and his gaze darted back and forth between me and Alrik.

  “You’ll remember my promised: Avelynn. It appears she never made it into that grave. Sigy fooled us all.”

  “But you’re dead,” Llewelyn stammered.

  “No. Sigy buried an innocent maid in my place. She set me up and orchestrated the whole scene. I’m innocent of your charges.”

  “You were caught in the throes of devil worship,” he hissed. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

  Alrik shoved the point farther into Llewelyn’s mouth. The steel slid between his teeth. Sweat dripped down the priest’s temples. His hair was sodden. “You were mistaken,” Alrik said.

  I lifted the cross around Llewelyn’s neck. “You knew Sigy and Marared were evil. You saw what they did to your wife and child, yet you pardoned them of all doubt. You turned your malevolence onto me. Sigy laid a deadly trap. That is what you saw.”

  “I will not ask again.” Alrik leaned closer to the priest. “How did the witch Sigy convince you to change your allegiance?”

  Llewelyn nodded and Alrik removed the sword, resting the blade on the priest’s shoulder. “I … I … She threatened my family. I have only the one daughter. Through her, I have a grandchild. I would lose them both if I stood against her. I had no choice. I—”

  “You will get no sympathy from me, priest.” Alrik’s sword bit into Llewelyn’s neck. Blood pooled around the steel. “Let me tell you how this will proceed. You will tell everyone of Sigy’s bribe. You will show them what a weak and spineless creature you are, and you will lay the charges of witchcraft firmly at her feet. You will absolve Avelynn of all charges and confirm her innocence.”