by Troy A Hill
Her eyes had shifted darker. Still blue, though. Interesting. Her eyes betrayed her mood. Lighter for happy, darker for serious.
"The brigands, one of them anyway, was overly amorous. He earned a slap." I shrugged. "Unfortunately, that outraged him. I didn't want to betray my nature in front of the caravan, and the priests, so I fled into the woods," I said, my voice quiet in the night. "But, it was evening, and the light was fading."
“You didn’t…?” Gwen left the question hanging. But I understood.
“I let him pursue me until the sun had set. I have my full strength and speed then,” I said. “He was so intent on taking my flesh.”
"You didn't kill him?" Gwen asked. "Did you?"
“I can use my… my undead nature to plant memories in my donor’s minds when I feed. I left him with the idea I was a faerie woman who had led him to a trap. I left him naked, with his weapons and clothing tossed in a bear’s cave.”
Gwen laughed.
"After that," I added. "Tired of the jostling of the carriage, I wanted to sleep during the day, and I need the earth to make that happen." She looked confused, so I continued to explain.
“My kind, the sun saps us of strength. We avoid it by sinking into the ground, to hide from the light. We arise at night. In between, we are… well, dead.”
“That makes sense,” she said, as she reached up with her free hand to push my dark hair back from my face. “After I found you, and brought you here, you were dead to the world while the sun was up. Once the day faded, you voiced your return each night.” She chuckled. “If anyone ventured near here, they will tell tales of the shrieking spirits that haunt those woods. Tales of the cyhyraeth would spring up, and the locals would avoid the woods for a generation.”
“My apologies,” I said in a hushed tone. “When my blood-demon has control of me, I…”
She reached to place a soft finger against my lips.
“That is past, and you are better now, Mair.” I loved the sound of how she pronounced the local version of my name. Mi-ir.
"Go on with your story." She said. Her aqua-blue eyes shifted to light greenish blue in the yellow light of the fire. "I want to hear more about how you pretend to be dead?"
"Well, I am dead," I said. "I died when I drank blood from my master, and he from me. He drained my body almost dry, then let me drink it back from him, several times that night. In that process, I died. I awoke three nights later with the thirst and learned I had to hide from the sun. The only time I breathe, or my heart beats is when I tell my body to do so."
“Why were… what did you call them… those who held you captive?”
"Witch Hunters…" I whispered and watched the flames. I didn't want to go back to the time in the forest with them. But, Gwen was the one I had to thank for my recovery. I leaned into her and watched the fire dance.
“You haven’t heard of them?”
“No,” she said. “The church in these lands has little contact with their brethren on the Saxon side of the island. The bishops of the Cymry Church rarely communicate with the Roman Church’s bishops.”
“Then they haven’t come this far yet?” I was hopeful that I had found a place away from the guild. At least for a while.
“This is the first I have heard of these hunters of witches.”
"I found one," I said. "I didn't know of his connection to the guild when we met. We were… um… intimate. I convinced him I'd share his bed, or a pile of hay in this case."
"You give your body in exchange for…" she asked. Her voice was quiet. Non-judgmental.
“I give an exchange of pleasure for blood,” I replied. This was always the tricky part. “I’m not a whore. But I cannot go about asking people to let me bite them. Nor will I take from them against their will unless I must.”
Her gaze stayed on me. I didn’t see revulsion, nor judgement in her face. Only a quest to understand.
"With a knowing partner, one who knows of my nature," I continued, "we share openly. I can access their mind and receive joy from the pleasure we share. I give back, mind to mind, the joy I feel as their blood warms me. Such a union is almost divine."
Her smile deepened. I had to fight my urge to reach up and touch her face. Gods, why was I feeling this way. I jerked my eyes down to my lap. Syram. My thoughts shifted back to that damned man and what he caused.
“With someone like Syram, I offer pleasure if I can feel his warmth inside me.”
“Oh, very appropriate wording, if I understand your intent,” Gwen chuckled.
“He expected intimacy,” I said. “Once their mind is full of passion, I can enter their thoughts. Men with passion are easy to control. I use the energy of their blood to build false memories in their minds. They’ll remember a night of passion. Of our bodies intertwined. They receive the pleasure they desire. Just without my flesh around theirs. In exchange, I get the warmth of their blood inside me.”
“But,” she said. “These Witch Hunters?”
“I found his medallion. The sign of the Witch Hunters was on a cord around his neck.” I shuddered as I remembered finding that sigil on him.
"Unfortunately, the shock of seeing that made me relax my hold on his mind. He struggled and regained his senses. With his trousers down, he stumbled back and fell out of the loft. He broke his neck on the stall below us. Others came to find their missing compatriot. His death alerted the others and caused others to pursue and capture me."
“And these Witch Hunters?”
“A sect within the Roman Church dedicated to finding and destroying that which they consider unholy,” I said. “Anyone they suspect of dabbling in the old religions, the Celtic way of the druids, or shape-shifters, or… Children of the Night like me.”
I pointed toward the log where she had opened the fiery slit.
“You, they would call a witch,” I said. “My kind, they call us ‘Blood Witches…’ You and I are both their targets.”
The fire in the pit crackled as a log burned through, which sent a cascade of sparks into the night. I stared into the flames. Gwen sighed and stroked my arm. I appreciated the comfort she was giving. We sat in silence for several minutes. The frogs and the insects of the night filled in the sounds for us.
"Why did you help me?" I asked. Her silver hair seemed golden in the firelight, and a slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“The wolves shared your story with me. I saw through their eyes what you endured, how you helped them, helped the pack leader. Even how they helped you dine with fresh kills.”
"Animal blood gets me by, but it lacks the energy to help me heal. Human blood is what I desire—what I need—when I thirst." Her arms wrapped around me, one behind me which, cupped my body, and the other arm lay across her lap. She touched my knees. I took that hand in mine and squeezed it in gratitude. I turned her hand over, palm up, and tugged up the sleeve of her gown. She had wound a strip of cloth around her wrist. A red stain peaked through the fabric. I touched the stain. I could smell the blood in the cloth.
“But you knew already,” I laid my head on her shoulder. “How much did you give me?”
"The wolves helped," she said. "They brought me small kills, like tonight. We filled your cup several times each day."
I sighed.
"And, how many times did you fill the cup with your blood? Even in this firelight, you seem rather pale."
“Enough to restore you.”
“Blood of power could have an even greater effect on how fast I heal,” I said. Gwen stayed silent. “I should have died the true death this time. And here I am, curled up next to you.” I said. After my ordeals at the hands of the Witch Hunters, I needed, I craved comfort and a loving touch again. She pulled me in tighter and caressed my arm.
"I'm sorry," I began the apology. I realised now why I was so attracted to her.
She placed a finger against my lips. I removed it.
"I must apologise," I said again. "I can feed from one person several times in a ro
w. More than that will create an intimate bond, imitating love, between the donor and me,"
“You have been through much, Mair,” she said. “I helped you as best I could.” She laid her head against mine, her cheek resting on the top of my head. “I have been too long without companionship. If my donation to you has made you like me, then I am happier for it.”
“Two legs on four legs approach,” the thoughts of Mother wolf intruded on my mind. Gwen stiffened. She had understood Mother’s warning.
“Men on horseback? This late at night?” Gwen stood. “Come, we must go again,”
19
Through the Mists
The wolves were at our side. Gwen and I faded back, deeper into the woods while the wolves crouched at the edge of the trees, hiding in some undergrowth. Gwen took the blanket from me and did her trick again. She traced a line of red light on the back of a tree, then shoved the blanket and the bearskin into the slit and let it close over them.
I sent my mind out to the wolves. Mother’s vision showed me two riders, clad in dark leathers dismount their horses at our fire. They had their backs to us at first.
One knelt by the fire. He had long hair, tied behind his head. Two long knives hung from scabbards on his belt. Knives similar to the ones my captors had used. The other man was of thicker build but his hair cropped short. He pointed to where we sat against the splintered stump. Instead of knives, he had a sword. One of the wide Celtic blades. My hand itched when I saw the sword. My fingers curled as though they held a blade.
The one by the fire held a small object, a cup perhaps, in his hand. Through Mother's vision, I couldn't see what it was. He looked down, then turned and pointed toward where we hid.
The firelight glinted off metal, a medallion that dangled from a cord around his neck. The Witch Hunters had found us.
“Come,” Gwen whispered from behind a tree. My flight instinct had come hard and fast. I knew I could outrun them, but, I didn’t want to leave Gwen to their mercies.
“Where will we go?” I whispered back.
“Far away.”
She touched the massive old oak. The bark of the tree melted away. A thin red rip of fire, similar to that I had seen her create earlier, opened before us. But this one was as tall as she.
Gwen took my hand.
"Come, love," she said with a smile and stepped into the crevice. Her arm pulled me along. I took the step. I chose to trust her. There were still too much I didn't know about where I was? Or why I was still here?
Our step through the red veil of fire was painless. The three wolves trotted in behind us. Their passage and ours stirred the surrounding mists. The soft grey of twilight washed the landscape here – wherever here was.
A bird’s caw sounded behind us, and a black shape drifted above and headed into the mist. A raven.
“Come,” Gwen said and pulled my hand. We followed the bird to… somewhere.
Distance did not seem to matter in this place, this realm. No matter how fast we walked, the raven stayed just ahead of us. It flew above us on silent, unmoving wings. I sensed no wind, but the tendrils of white around us swirled. I glanced back, and could no longer make out the dim shadow of the tree we had used as a gateway. More insubstantial trees appeared then disappeared as we passed.
“How do you know where to go?” My voice sounded the same, but there was no reflection of the sound. No insect noise, no other noise beyond a quiet tinkle, as though a stream ran by us, just beyond our sight.
“I concentrate on where I wish to travel,” Gwen said. “The Lady sends a messenger to guide me through the mists. It has always been a raven.”
“The Lady?” I asked.
“The words are but a simple name for a complicated concept,” she said. “Think of her as the Goddess of Sovereignty of Britannia, if you will. She is the land, and the land is her. Britannia bestows her sovereignty upon a worthy person or persons, who become kings. She rewards them with blessings such as people of character, and items of value, as long as he nurtures and protects the land and all of its creatures.”
My gaze drifted about the grey landscape. I had no idea which direction was which. But, I was happy for her touch on my hand. I didn’t want to separate from her in this… whatever it was.
The mists continued to weave around us in the dim twilight between the worlds. I wasn’t sure how long we had walked. The wolves walked at our side, unconcerned.
The black bird that drifted above us dove at a tree shadow ahead of us cawed once then flew off into the mists. Gwen walked toward the dark shadow of a tree. I sensed something pulse through her—magic, perhaps? — as the red slit of fire opened before us. The wolves darted through, and Gwen's hand pushed me forward. I stepped through, unsure what I'd see on the other side.
The stand of trees here was thinner the one we had just left. The air was chillier and thinner. We must be high in a mountain range, somewhere.
Gwen’s hand was still in mine as she stepped forward into the night. Despite the small grove, the oak trees here stood majestic and tall. Far older than where we had been before. Among the noise of the night insects, I could hear the distant chorus of frogs, as waves lapped the shore somewhere nearby.
“Welcome to The Lady’s lake, dearest,” she said.
20
By the Lake
The air here was chilled as though we had climbed high into the mountains. The lake nestled in between several rounded hills. Scrub littered the slopes. A single patch of trees stood almost forlorn on the hillside.
“Where are we?” I asked.
She released my hand and walked down to a flat spot on the lakeshore, between two large fallen logs. Their bark was long since worn away by the weather, or by touch. I wondered who had brought them here since there was a lack of forests this high.
The smooth surface of the wood seemed impervious to time and gleamed in the starlight. Gwen bent down at a rock-ringed pit between the fallen logs and the lake. Again, she mumbled a word, touched the branches, and flames sprang alight in the wood.
"We are far away, at the safest place I know of," she said. She stepped back and slid her arm slid around my waist again, and I was grateful for the touch of comfort she provided. Even if it was the blood bond that made me crave her touch. Too many decades had passed since I had a someone who knew my nature and was willing to share their contact, their warmth with me.
My body still trembled with the urge to run, even though Gwen had pronounced us safe, far from where the two guilders had found us. Was it luck they came to the same stream? I wanted to flee. But we had just done that when we moved through the mists inside the tree.
I sat on one log and watched Gwen trace another line of fire on one of the old fallen trees. From that slit, she pulled a rumpled blanket. I looked like the one we had just shoved into wherever was beyond that red line. She reached in again and pulled out another one. This one was folded as though it had been stored and not shoved in a chest in a hurry. I stood and helped her spread the rumpled one between the logs.
Soot stained the rocks around the small blaze. The wood of the logs was smooth and bark free. Worn from years of contact and use. This seemed to be a favourite spot of hers.
We sat next to each other. I leaned into her; our arms snaked between our hips and the log behind us.
I loved the warmth of her body next to mine and enjoyed watching her eyes. Those blue dots of emotion in her beautiful, timeless face. The colour of those orbs danced and shifted. Light blue seemed to be her happy shade. Dark blue took over in trouble, like our flight from the men at the creek.
When I saw the bandage on her wrist peek out from under her sleeve, I was reminded why I felt drawn to her, and didn't want us to part. It was her blood in me. The blood bond. She had given me way too much. But, I was back alive again.
Or undead again. Onion Breath was dead. I survived. But, more witch hunters had found us? How? Gwen had said we were safe now. Were we? My eyes darted across the shoreline.
/> I took a deep breath. Unnecessary, since I didn’t need to breathe. But it helped calm my flight instinct. I wanted to hear her voice, something to take my mind off the image I had of the new Witch Hunters that knelt by our last fire.
“You’re sure we’re safe here?”
“This place is sacred to the goddess. I can sense all the creatures within a few leagues of the lake,” she said. “We have travelled a great distance from where I cared for you. This place,” she swept her arm out toward the lake, “is high in the mountain in North-Western Gwynedd. It would take almost two weeks to ride here from where we were.”
“You seem much more than you appear,” I said. I had let some of my tension ease with her reassurance of safety. “Now, it is time for your story.” The fire crackled and punctuated my statement with a shower of sparks that drifted up before they winked out above our heads.
Her blue eyes drifted down. She took a moment to gather her thoughts.
"The land, The Lady, has always called to me," she said. She emphasised the term "land" in a way that most people wouldn't. "As a young girl, a daughter of a lord from the Cymry lands in the North-West. I knew my duty was to be married to another lord." She said and shrugged.
“I fulfilled my duty and married a man. I didn’t know then, but he was a man who would be a high king,” she said. Her voice stayed quiet, and she kept her eyes on the fire.
"The monks I met," I interjected, "and the other Saxons along the way, described the Cymry as dark-haired," I touched her straight blonde hair.
“My father was a lord in a northern kingdom,” Gwen said, “and he found a wife among the Pictish tribes. My mother and I are similar in complexion and hair. Cymru families have intermarried enough with the others that some blonde hair and lighter complexions show up. Raiders and settlers from Hibernia are also common, so red hair and freckles also occur.”
She leaned away and moved her eyes across my face and hair.
“You, my dearest, could pass for Cymry with your olive-complexion and black hair. That is the norm in the lands, but most of the Cymry judge each other on their character, not on their appearance.”
