He no longer sensed the woods, the path, or even awareness of his own body. Her words took on a new cadence, winding around him like wind and water filling his head with the sound of her voice. He could smell incense and sense the sudden presence of other forms, a press of beings of enormous power as if to witness her words.
“The blood of the sea and the promise waits, but so does the chosen of the raven. Beware the children of the raven! Two paths become one and danger increases. Llyr’s hand is always upon you, you and yours are our most precious defenders. From you, feather, stone and water shall be united. The Rook shall throw down the raven if hearts are true and courage does not falter.”
Her voice faded and he shook his head as if waking from sleep to find the lady’s silvery image gone and the road quite empty. Only the slight echo of power whispered through the trees.
“She never says goodbye,” he laughed shakily. He didn’t know whether to be terrified or comforted that the sea god himself, whose hand had raised Celtica from the sea, had placed so much faith in him. He wasn’t blind either and could see in the Lady’s eyes that such communication had taken a toll on her. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like to hear the voice of a god. He wondered if a normal person would even survive such an experience.
It still begged the question, why him? And why were magical and supernatural warnings, clues and prophecies never in good plain English? He supposed he wouldn’t be able to decipher this one until the moments were upon him. Well, other than the fact that the Gooar already had someone in place. His mission to find the Gooar’s agent had just taken on even more importance.
He could only hope that the Lady had conjured a spell that would have hidden her presence and their conversation from the Gooar. He had met the leader of the Gooar, Olav, on several occasions. Each one had been a moment of sweating terror that the man would penetrate the secrets he held. Olav had seemed more interested in grilling him on the upbringing his mother had provided and that he had “proper” Viking values. The upbringing part he had passed with flying colors. His need to remove himself from the Gooar’s plans to find an heir for Ulrich had not always seemed to satisfy Olav. He had occasionally seen that black eye following him, full of speculation. In fact, he often worried that Olav had plans for him that no amount of his supposed drinking, whoring and general uselessness had dissuaded. He hoped he was wrong.
In fact, he mused, he and Bishop had often discussed their coinciding thoughts that the Gooar was up to something they could not put their finger on. Even the Ladies had not been able to penetrate more than a thin outer layer of the thoughts of the priests. It was strange that Olav and Ulrich had yet to announce an heir for Ulrich when it was clear he would not produce any offspring. They were leaving the succession of the throne in doubt and that did not make any sense.
Just remembering the first time he had been brought before Olav still gave him nightmares. In his obedience and a show of dedication to Odin the man had gouged out one of his own eyes so that he too had only one eye like his god. Did it give him greater knowledge like the All Father? Who knew? But he was without doubt a man of incredible power and no conscience in pursuit of his own ends.
Olav had a faithful raven that acted as both spy and familiar. Stories of the atrocities he committed and his experiments upon women of Celtic blood were the stuff of legend. Sebastian had seen the bodies of the women taken by Olav and it was impossible to not imagine the suffering those poor women had endured.
The prophecies that guided both the Celts and Vikings of the kingdom had produced pure and total insanity if anyone where to ask his opinion. No one would of course. To the natives of Celtica a king would come, his arrival would herald the defeat of the Gooar of Odin and their followers. A new era of peace and strength for the kingdom would begin. The whispers were so low he wondered if even the Gooar knew that many Celts believed the future king would be of King Arthur’s blood.
To the Gooar, and no surprise, their prophecy was bloodier, a scion of
Harald’s blood would slaughter a child of Llyr and Harald as a sacrifice to Odin and Odin would purify Celtica of all Celtic blood. The House of Llyr would be destroyed forever. Some ultra-purified descendent of Harald would assume the throne and his bloodline would rule for all time.
He often thought of the Gooar’s “sacrificial” plan as Plan B. Plan A, setting up a pure blood Viking upon the throne a thousand years ago had ended in abject failure. It had resulted in a continued mania for maintaining and refining the line of Harald in the hope that one day they would bring the prophecy to fruition but so far they had, thankfully, failed.
For the prophecy to come true the Gooar would need to find a child with the blood of Llyr and Harald. So far that had been impossible, made impossible by the priestesses. He feared that the mangled bodies Olav had started dumping were related to some experiment to try and combine the blood.
He had only realized recently, and much to his shock, that his mother and the Gooar hadn’t minded his whoring about at all. They were hoping that having been born and raised outside of Celtica he would be immune to the priestesses magic that made Viking seed unable to take root in a Celtic womb. Fortunately, it seemed to have proven true with him as well. He had avoided women of Celtic blood like the plague once he had learned of the prophecy, just to be certain. He had also taken precautions to not get any woman of Viking blood with child either. He refused to take the chance of either being the instrument of a child being murdered or being forced to marry if he did get one of Viking blood pregnant.
The first problem was that as far as anyone knew there was no blood of Arthur anywhere to be found. Arthur himself had killed his only ill begotten offspring Mordred. The Lady at the time of the Viking prophecy had taken extreme measures and conjured a spell of such power she had died after the casting. There had not been a child born of Viking and Celtic or Briton union in a thousand years; including from the Royal House of Llyr who had not lain, by law, with a Viking in all that time.
Where the Gooar thought they were going to get a child who met those requirements was a mystery to him but he was sure this was the root of the horrific stories he had heard surrounding Olav. He had even heard that Olav was a thousand years old and the Priest who had brought the Vikings to Celtica. He didn’t know if it was just a tale, but he hoped so. He didn’t want to know what Olav would be willing to do in order to live so long.
If the Ladies of Rhiannon knew of anyone who carried the blood of Arthur it was the best kept secret of their order. They were like most religious and magical orders, dedicated unto death to protecting the skills and knowledge they possessed. If they knew of some Arthurian bloodline out there he could only hope it would show up soon. They could really use some help about now. If not, then King Conal of the House of Llyr was the only answer they had and Sebastian hoped the man was up to his task. He’d know better once he met him.
He remembered what Bishop had told him of the last King, Niall’s, hopes. He had thought he could bring the Gooar and their followers to see reason and share the kingdom peacefully after a millennium of hatred if a child of both his own house of Llyr and the bloodline of Harald could be combined. The king had proposed reversing the spell and marrying his son Conal to Sebastian’s own mother if the Gooar would abandon their plot to kill any offspring. He wanted to allow the kingdom to unite through fusing the blood of the enemies. It was a strategy that often worked in Europe over the centuries to build alliances, but the Gooar would have no part of the proposal.
That is what had incited the coup. When King Niall had gone to the Lady of Rhiannon to ask if there was a way to reverse the spell that made conception impossible and suggested the union between Conal and Astrid, the kingdom had gone insane. The Gooar and their followers would not allow their beloved bloodline to be corrupted with Celtic blood for anything other than a sacrifice to fulfill their prophecy. There would be no union leading to peace.
The idea to merge the two lines in ha
rmony had erupted in a violence that had caught the last king totally unprepared. It was clear there would be no reasoning with the Black Axes and their fanatic priesthood. He often wondered how his own mother had felt about the idea of marrying the Prince of Celtica. He could only imagine it was with horror. He supposed she would have married Ulrich himself if she hadn’t been ordered to marry his father. The Vikings had worked to secure alliances on the continent and within England itself. His mother had played an important role in coordinating those who were sympathetic to the Viking cause in England. His mother was a traitor. His horse protested by tossing his head when his hands clenched the reigns too tightly.
His mother and her alliances still confused him. Why she married his father he understood (more of that crossing of the Viking line) but why she had befriended a family that had sided squarely with the King of Celtica bothered him. It also raised questions over events that had unfolded at Pemberly and what role his mother might have played. It was sad day when one could all too easily accept one’s mother as a possible murderer.
The truths that had begun to dawn upon him left his mother one more problem for him to resolve. He would have to deal with her before he returned to Celtica but those thoughts would have to wait as Menwith had been reached. Just trying to figure out all the threads, possible enemies and schemes was enough to give even the most thinking man a headache. He was happy to have something active to do to stop the swirl of possibilities running rampant through his brain.
Twilight was coming on as he edged silently to the brink of the woods above Menwith. He sat on the hill above the house waiting for the shadows to deepen as he planned his best approach. The house was situated among rolling woodlands and had walled gardens and a small maze. It was not the largest manor he had ever seen, but built of weathered and solid stone. The windows were long and mullioned below dozens of brick chimney pots and tall pitched roofing. A short, but pleasantly curved, drive led between tall wrought iron gates. It was a location that afforded privacy, little pomp, and small expectation that a king, albeit a dispossessed king, would be in residence.
He had to give Tamworth credit for his choice of accommodations under the circumstances. It also set just enough above the surrounding land to give a good 360 degree view from the upper windows and yet still protect the lower levels from any prying eyes. He could see the home farm in the distance and it looked sizable enough to provide for the house’s needs. It was a self-sufficient property.
He had to make certain his were the only eyes focused upon Menwith and then decide how to separate the king from the household. It was a challenge, but among things he had learned from Bishop was patience and caution. Those were two things he had severely lacked when they had first met. They were the first lessons Bishop had set for him. They had been hard lessons and frustrated him wildly, while amusing Bishop. He had turned Sebastian to training task after task until most days he was sore to the bone and exhausted before night fell.
He reached for the amethyst in his pocket and prepared to clear his mind. Properly used, focused, the crystal enhanced his own human senses and allowed him to create a field of resonance. The field the amethyst created would sense danger for him, with great range and even greater accuracy then just holding the crystal. First he pulled the small bag of sea salt from his saddlebag and prepared to raise a circle of protection. It was the first lesson he had received from the Ladies. The last thing he needed was to announce his presence if anyone down there had the ability to sense magic or if any priest of Odin was in the area. He would never have imagined that the tools of a spy could also include magic, he smiled to himself.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
While miles away to the South Sebastian prepared to infiltrate one of the
Duke of Tamworth’s residences, Jessy and the rowdy inhabitants of Mallory’s End were nearing the end of the birthday celebration. Jessy’s twenty sixth birthday had her head awhirl but she had to put it aside for the sake of the children. They had worked so hard and so looked forward to a happy day of food, games and presents she couldn’t let them down by moping about. The lawn in back was decorated with streamers, cut out paper flowers and strangely shaped paper figures she could only assume were meant to represent Abe. They had even made paper lanterns which now glowed softly in the gathering dusk.
Abe hadn’t escaped the festivities. The children had taken the time to weave his silky mane with ribbons and he sported a large blanket that said
“Happy Birthday!” in great childish block letters. The only thing missing was Sean. He should have been here at least two hours ago. Jessy leaned back into the bench she shared with Maureen and watched her son and his “cousins” dash about the lawn chasing the little flashes of light the children insisted were will o’ wisps. They were simply fireflies but she wasn’t going to spoil the magic.
She remembered chasing them herself in the dark with David and
Sebastian back on the lawns of Pemberly while her parents had indulgently looked on. Father had always had a few nets and jars about for just such occasions. Sometimes he had leaped about with nearly equal enthusiasm as the children to compete over who could catch the most. She could still hear her mother’s laughter floating across the night air. She had laughed so easily, loved so much and it often caught Jessy unaware, these moments when she watched Trystan at play. It hurt to know that her own mother would never hold her grandson. She shook her head to cast away the thoughts and tucked her hand more firmly into Maureen’s.
“I didn’t want to end the party until Sean showed. It’s not like him to be late. He told me specifically he would be here. He never lets the children down. David also doesn’t like me to ride back in the dark. He’s such a worrier,” Jessy gave a small laugh. She loved riding in the moonlight.
No sooner had she finished speaking than a tin horn was heard tooting away like mad at the gate and the children and dogs rushed en mass to greet their uncle. Only Sean ever arrived with such fanfare! She and Maureen followed only slightly slower with skirts raised so they could dash for the gate too. The children, with the help of Mr. Ellesbury, Mallory’s End farm manager, were opening the gate to a dashing barouche. Sean had a colorful cockade tucked into the brim of his low crowned hat and cried “Make way! Make way!” With a grand air for the benefit of the children he slowly drove along the drive before stopping in front of the house.
“Last but not least to arrive my darlings!” he smiled and let the children clamber up into the barouche for a round of hugs and hair ruffling. Uncle Sean was an absolute favorite and the children were beyond thrilled he had arrived at long last.
He jumped down handing his reigns to the stable boy who had come running, eyes agog at the magnificence of the barouche and eager to get his hands on such a wonderful carriage.
With a hand raised Sean stopped him while he reached into the back seat to pull out several packages and hand them with an elaborate bow to Jessy. He then reached into a bag on the seat next to him and tossed colorfully wrapped candies into the air and the children shouted and squealed with joy as leaped about attempting to catch the sweet bounty.
“Though it be a day early, happy birthday my dove!” he smiled. But to the sharper adult eyes upon him there was a strain around his eyes.
Obviously the reason for his delayed arrival had not been a pleasant one.
Jessy tucked the packages he had handed her under one arm and leaned in to kiss Sean on the cheek murmuring in his ear, ‘Tell us later?” To which Sean nodded and gave her a kiss in return.
Trystan bounded forward to try and get a look at the packages under his mother’s arm. She twirled about laughing trying to keep them away from his curious hands and eyes.
“Mine!” she said with mock sternness and a finger pointed to his nose.
They all made their way back to the lawn which glowed so magically with the paper lanterns and Sean couldn’t restrain a laugh when he saw Abe bedecked with birthday cheer and head in the nearest apple tree. At the so
und of their return the horse turned his head with obviously startled guilt and forgot to crunch down on the apple grasped between his large white teeth. He gave a meek dip of his head and slid his eyes sideways as he made the apple disappear.
“It’s a good thing I brought the barouche for you, not only due to the lateness but I’m not sure if Abe will be able to carry you after how much he probably ate today. It would take a small miracle to get the girth around that belly!” Sean pulled her arm through his and headed for the table covered in the detritus of the party. Assorted burst crackers, cake crumbs, bits of tart and a half empty punch bowl took up most of the space and with a quick sly smile Sean pulled a flask out of his driving coat and dumped the contents into the punch bowl.
“We better make certain the children don’t decide they want more punch,” Jessy said wryly.
“The punch is now officially off limits to any shorter than Maureen. After my day I need a drink most desperately but promise to stay sober enough to drive you home. I vow I will not overturn us in a ditch,” He filled a cup for
Jessy and himself and raised his cup to tap it against hers.
“I must admit twenty six does put you firmly on the shelf. You might have to get yourself married before this year is over or you will become a positive ape-leader,” he teased. Among the ton a woman of her age was certainly approaching the “shelf.” The only thing saving her was the status of widowhood. Between Tamworth’s courtship, her age and the return of Sebastian she would be making some serious decisions concerning her future whether she felt ready or not. Actresses did not tend to have terribly long careers, at least not with star billing. As much as she loved acting she had no intention of pursuing this career much longer.
David and Margaret had set the children to divesting Abe of his finery and came over to join them.
ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One Page 17
