by Troy A Hill
“You spoke of your husband?” I added, to guide her back to her story.
"Good kings are tied to the land," she continued but settled in next to me again. Her eyes shifted back to the lake. "The kings nurture the people, and The Lady rewards the rulers with a lengthy reign. But, when those leaders fall afoul of the Lady when they fail to work toward the good of their people or mistreat a gift from the Lady, then they lose the blessings they have received."
Her eyes moved up to mine.
"I didn't know so then, but I was a gift upon my husband from the goddess. I was the gift he received for his commitment to the land and the people."
“This goddess of yours gives women as gifts to men?” I asked. “Not a very loving goddess.”
"Not a sexual gift," Gwen said and stared hard into my face. "I would have been married to a man of lesser character without the goddess. Love… can grow in a marriage, but at our level, it happens seldom. We had respect for one another. Without the burden of our roles, love might have grown between us. Perhaps, given time." She let her eyes drift back toward the fire.
"But I respected him, and he, me. We were a pair destined to be together. His skill wasn't just at arms. He was a true leader of men. One who inspired others to his banner. I kept not only the household but also looked after agreements and treaties. My father was the first to swear his kingdom to Arthur's banner."
She stared into the fire. I stayed quiet while she collected her thoughts.
“My husband was a good king for many years,” her voice was quiet in the night. “But, he forgot to care for people and the land he already controlled. In his wars to control more, he broke his bond with the Lady. I could see the desire grow in him, but he refused to listen."
She paused again and sat quiet. I let her have the time without interruption.
“Eventually, battles for control were fought, his authority was challenged, and he fell in battle," Gwen said. "He was one of the best kings, but all kings must pass, all kingdoms must end. Just as the seasons change, life passes and is renewed with more generations, the Land blesses new kings as old kings pass away.” Her eyes had shifted down into her lap. I couldn’t tell if she was saddened or just nostalgic.
“How long ago did he die?”
“That is a sneaky way,” Gwen said, “to ask my age. He died just over a century ago. People in this land don’t know of my past. Like you, I keep my true nature hidden.”
I watched her face as she spoke. Her gaze drifted away to the water as she recalled her memories. My hand found hers.
Gwen gripped it, then sighed.
“Even though we never knew love between us,” she said, “He was the best king for the time. I respected what he did for Britannia. His death threw the island into chaos.”
Again, her eyes drifted out toward the water. A moment passed before she turned back toward me. I wasn't sure if I imagined it or not, but her eye colour had shifted to a much lighter blue.
“Finally, the goddess showed me my role,” Gwen said. “Once I accepted it, I became the agent of The Lady. I had been all along. But I took many years to understand how She works with mortals. I devoted myself to learn all I could about her. Over time, I learned how she works in our world, and how the plants and creatures are her children just as men and women are part of her.”
“So, you are a dryad?” I asked. I thought I remembered that the term had meant a female druid. A priestess of the old religions of the Celts.
She smiled in a way that made me think there was more to her than just an ancient title. "The old religion has all but died out. Even though the goddess calls me her daughter, I have to work within the new reality of the new religion. To the monks and abbots here, and the Lords and Ladies of the land, I am a disciple of The Holy Lady, the mother of the saviour of the Roman church. The priests say The Holy Mother visited this Island with her son after his birth."
I chuckled at that. “That woman sure got around in her time. Many parts of the world have stories of how she and her divine son visited them.”
“The church here in Britain is still Celtic in its nature,” Gwen added. “The Cymry bishops still look kindly on the old ways, as long as they are disguised in new saintly names for old Celtic ideas.”
"Unfortunately," I shifted to a sombre tone, "the Roman Church I now know is more like the Witch Hunters who held me captive. If it were not for the kindness of that young apprentice of theirs, I'd have died the true death by now."
“I saw it through the young wolf’s eyes,” Gwen said. Her eyes shimmered dark blue as the firelight danced across her face. “I saw, too, the events that lead to the battle. To show mercy to the young man with the crossbow. You believed he could be turned toward good…”
I surpassed a shudder. “The young man passed me his small knife in secret. Because of him, I freed myself.”
“Courage and compassion. My husband would have given him lands and a title. Character, not skill at arms impressed him. He would often say anyone can be taught to fight, but only the true of heart know how to protect those who cannot stand alone.” Her hand moved. She brushed her fingers across my cheek again.
"We are two of a kind, Mair." She exhaled and laid her head on my shoulder. "Different, yet the same."
21
A Wrong in the Land
The orange ball of light climbed just above the tree line when Gwen stirred from her rest. Red coated the horizon but soon gave way to golden light that danced in her light blond hair. It shimmered as she rolled to her back, with her head still in my lap. She had slept there for the last few hours. Every time I stood to add a log to the fire, she scooted back to me. Her head on my leg and my hand clasped in hers, pulled into her chest.
Whenever the sun rose, I would attempt to find a secluded spot and sink into the earth. But, this morning, I still felt rejuvenated. I felt as if the land had leant me energy all night.
She rolled over. Her eyes fluttered open, and she turned her face up to me.
“I am happy that you’re still here,” she smiled.
“Why would I leave?” I said.
Oh, I had considered it. Running. That seemed sensible. The Witch Hunters were on the island. My attraction to the mysterious Gwen was probably fuelled by the blood she donated while I lay raving. I needed to run. But I didn’t want to leave Gwen. Here, with her, I felt content. As though I was meant to be here. I had spent the night, while she slept, stroking her hair and gazing into the fire or out across the lake.
The blood bond between Gwen and I was easy enough to deduce. If I didn't feed again from her, it would fade in a few weeks.
But, here by the lake, high in the mountains, why was I so content?
Gwen's blue eyes still sparkled in their lightest blue. Their aqua colour invited me to plunge into her soul. I stroked her face with a gentle touch.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. I shook my head. “No?” she said with a playful grin on her face. “Well, I am. Will you help me gather food?”
"I haven't had to consume mortal food for so long," I said. "I doubt I could remember which wild plants are edible, even in my homeland."
She rose and brushed off her dress. The embroidery on it was simple, yet elegant. Light green threads created a forest motif across her bodice, and ivy curled down her arms in the same thread.
I sighed.
"What is wrong, dearest?" she asked as she opened the fiery slit in the log and pulled out a clay jug and a clay cup.
"I am a Child of the Night," I said. My eyes stayed on the sunrise. The great orange ball hung just above the lake. "The sun is rising. I should find a spot to settle into the earth to sleep the day away."
“Do you need to sleep now?”
“I’ve never felt this awake with the sun in the sky,” I said, puzzled.
"Good. Then we can walk together and gather food until you do feel the need to sleep," she said. "There is a valley as a short walk away. We can use the tree and the mists to travel like we did last n
ight. Once there, we'll even stay in the trees for most of the walk so the sunlight won't touch you."
I reached up and took her outstretched hands though I needed no help to rise.
“Come, help me gather berries,” she said again. “I’ll show you the tasty ones.”
I giggled as she took my hand and led me back to the trees.
Our walk was pleasant. Even though I hadn’t walked in the daylight for several centuries, at least not by choice, the morning seemed magical. The wildlife that seemed to spring up around us fascinated me. Hares would dart onto the path and rise to look at Gwen and I. She smiled and waved them off the path.
Birds seemed to land in trees near us. Their song was interesting. Whenever I had to stay awake during the day, I concentrated on fighting fatigue, and keeping my demon quiet. This morning, none of that bothered me and I enjoyed the walk. There seemed to be something magical about the wildlife here. Almost as though they wanted to come out and chat with Gwen and I. Well, with Gwen, perhaps. I did not understand what any of their songs meant. Gwen however, would nod now and then, as though she could understand birdsong, or the language of the wildlife.
As we found our way back to the copse of trees by the lake, I cupped my skirt to create a makeshift basket and carried the fruit and berries back to the lake.
Gwen found a clay bowl in her magical space, and I tilted my dress so the berries cascaded into it.
“This goddess of yours…”
Gwen gave a sly smile. I shrugged. There was too much changing in my life. I wanted answers but didn't know what questions to ask.
“You said she called you her daughter,” I continued. “Does that make you a disciple of hers? Are you the only one?”
“Disciple is a valid term,” Gwen said. “Like most things in nature, three seems to be the ideal number. She has told me she will call two more daughters to serve her.” Her sly smile told me more than I wanted to accept there.
“I’m not cut out to be a disciple of some life goddess,” I said. “Why would she want a dead girl? I doubt even She could fix that.”
"Perhaps, she will explain someday," Gwen said, but her smile faded. "My acceptance of my new role took several months for me to acknowledge. I didn't want to hear what she told me. I was rather stubborn…"
I got the sense there was more to her vague mention of her past, but a look of concern crept onto her face. She stared off at the lake for a moment.
"I sense a wrong in the land," she said. "I wasn't sure at first, but the sense hasn't diminished. We need to travel today," she said. Her eyes shifted to me. They were back to the deep blue colour. "I would like you to come along if you feel you can handle more daylight. There is something different about how this disturbance feels. Perhaps your well-travelled eyes will help?"
"So far, I am fine if I stay in the shade," I said and shrugged. This wasn't normal. Something was different about me. About this place. "I feel energised instead of sleepy."
A grey day was brewing. I didn’t smell any rain in the air, but fog and cloud cover filtered much of the direct light.
“Perhaps the Lady likes you,” Gwen said. She opened the rip in the log again. “I’ll store these away,” she said as she replaced her now empty jug and cup in the fiery slit she made in a tree.
“What is that place?”
“The Otherworld, where the Lady lets me store my belongings.”
“Otherworld?” I asked.
"The land where the gods and goddesses reside," she said. "The mists we travelled through are the edge of the Otherworld. Mortals can only enter the fringes of that realm. The Lady showed me how to use the trees to travel along those paths. Distance means little there, so I can travel throughout the lands. I open the portal on one tree and leave through a portal on another tree. I cross many leagues in a few moments."
We took the folded blankets, and Gwen opened the small rift between the worlds again. Her hand disappeared into the slit. All I could see was the dim red glow. When she brought her hand back up, she passed me a folded cloak.
“I think of what I wish to retrieve, and I find it,” she said. “The cloak has a hood to shield you, should the skies be clear.”
I wrapped the twilight blue cloak around me. It matched the dress she had given me.
"The colour suits you," Gwen said, then reached out so I could pull her up from the log. Our eyes met as she stood. Both of her hands in mine. Her eyes were a dark blue this morning.
“Come, dearest,” she said, her voice quiet. “We must be about The Lady’s business this morning.” I shrugged as she stepped away. I bent and retrieved my sling bag. Unlike Gwen, I didn’t have a magical location to store my few possessions. All I had was in the bag, including my master’s cup. Perhaps my attachment to it was sentimental, but I didn’t want to be separated from it. I slung the bag across me, then reached out for her hand and followed her up the path to the trees.
22
Carnage
The raven cawed and dove to show a particular shadow of a tree then flew away into the mists. Gwen still held my hand. I didn't want to get separated in here since I had no way to leave without her aid. The wolves didn't seem concerned, however, and loped alongside us.
I blinked into the brighter, but still overcast skies. We left a foggy morning by the lake and emerged into dull daylight. This land seemed always to be fighting its way out of a shroud of fog. Still, I resisted an urge to lie down and sink into the soil. Hide from the sun. Too many centuries of habits were overwhelming my new vibrant energy in daylight. Gwen must have felt my hesitation. She glanced back at me. Her smile helped my feet to move.
Unlike the low rolling hills I had travelled earlier, before Onion Breath and his cohort, this area was hilly. Highlands, the Anglos had called the areas to the west and the north of Mercia, full of steeper hills and long valleys. In the far distance, a herd of sheep grazed on the side of one such hill.
“Where are we?” My voice sounded thin in the gloomy day.
“A section of the borderlands, at the edge of the cantref of Mechain. This is neutral territory. Mercia took it several years ago. King Penda doesn’t allow settlements here. But, has allowed Cymry to graze their herds in this area.”
“Are we near the spot where… by the creek…?” I wasn’t sure of the geography, nor where we had been. I wrapped my arms around me at the thought of the Witch Hunters in the area.
“We’re more than a day’s ride from where I found you… and your dead captors.” She said. “I doubt we’ll find anyone in this area.” She said. “Not even a yeoman with an ox-cart.” She glanced at the surrounding hillsides. “Questions later. Let us both walk and draw our own observations. Your eyes have travelled farther and wider than mine. Perhaps you will find connections I do not see.”
As we neared the top of the hill, I felt the unmistakable sense of death in the area.
“What was this place?”
“An old Roman outpost.” She answered.
I noticed lines, more eroded stone walls. The land worked to reclaim the rubble. Grasses and scrub worked to overcome the last few traces of whatever had been here before. A few mounds of dirt and grass, with occasional protrusions of linear piled stone, showed where the walls and buildings of the fortress had once stood.
“Rome has not had legions in this land for…?” I asked.
“The empire left this island almost three hundred years ago,” Gwen replied, as she wandered among the ruins.
We wandered along the edge of the remains of the ancient fort. My eyes drifted through the overcast light of the morning. A serene pasture between several copses of trees stretched before us. The close-cropped grasses showed that livestock must have grazed here often.
At least until something slaughtered them.
Mother wolf and the younglings nosed their way through the grasses ahead of us. I reached out with my mind toward her.
“Strange beast… hunted… but not hunt…”
She glanced down th
e hill toward a copse of trees away from where we had come out of the mists. Their noses down, they sniffed the grass as they followed a trail only they could sense.
Red and grey mounds dotted the landscape. Sheep? We moved closer. A herd of sheep. Their bodies mutilated as though great claws had raked them. The grass was damp and matted around the corpse, thick with dark red blood. Carrion birds circled overhead and covered the bodies. Their black wings beat as they hopped from carcass to carcass.
“From the smell of the blood,” I said as I surveyed the carnage, “this happened yesterday... sometime overnight.”
Gwen’s dark blue eyes scanned the area.
"I don't see a shepherd," I said. "Does the Lord Mechain send his flocks out alone?"
Gwen shrugged and took another step through the carnage. Her lips were tight as she picked her way through the bloodied and mangled animal corpses.
One figure, at the far edge of the massacre, seemed odd. We stepped through the carnage and found a blood-soaked woollen blanket. The body of a shepherd, a young man, more of a boy lay wrapped in it. He probably still slept when he was attacked. The scavengers had a full night to work on the body, based on the rough, ragged edges of the wounds. But the scavengers hadn't killed him. Great claws had slashed him. His neck torn wide open as was his chest. Wanton death. Whatever had killed him, and the sheep wasn't on a hunt for food. It was out for destruction.
I bent down and examined the claw slices. I compared them to my hand size. I couldn't spread my fingers that far and still bend them.
“Claws…” I said. “Do you have large cats in the land?”
“Only in legend,” Gwen said. “Romans may have brought some over with their armies. If so, I believe they’ve been hunted to extinction.”
“How did you know about this…?” I let my thought trail off as I tried to find a word to describe the gruesome scene.
