by Troy A Hill
“Not yet,” I replied. I ran my hand across her dress. She let me caress her legs where they crossed mine. “I suspect another fortnight before I need to feed again.”
“I have seen how you drink from your cup. How do you…” her words trailed off. Another thought lit up her eyes. They were back to a dark blue now. “How did you become…?” She must have known she was asking for intimate details. Those were both awkward subjects to discuss, even among the few people who know of my nature.
“Funny,” I said. “I dreamed about that when I was unconscious, after my fight with the Witch Hunters.”
She reached out and tucked my hair back behind my ear.
"I enjoy seeing your eyes and your smile," she said. Her eyes were in the light teal shade. Her happy tone.
“To cross over, to become a Child of the Night, I needed to drink the blood of my master.”
“You were a slave?”
“No…” I said. It was difficult to explain. “When I became one of his undead offspring, he could have controlled me. He didn’t. Masters can force their will onto any of us that they make from their blood. He was too kind, to force us to live as his servants. Instead, he taught us to love, and encouraged our independence from him."
Gwen said nothing. She took my hand and held it. Her fingers stroked the back of mine while she sat and listened. I shared my memories of my master’s house, of how I was one of his followers, then one of his undead children.
“So you only become a…” Gwen searched for the term again.
“Child of the Night,” I said.
“By drinking the blood from one who is already a Child of the Night?” She asked.
"It's more complicated than that," I said. "My master fed from me first and took me dangerously close to death. Only then was my body be ready to receive the magic that makes us what we are."
“You are an interesting person, dearest,” Gwen said. “Not just because you are one of these Children of the Night.”
Movement by the trees, in the moonlight, caught my eye. Mother wolf and a few strange wolves ran along the bank of the lake. Petram and his brother loped along behind them.
“We have guests,” I said.
“I brought the other wolves here while you slept,” Gwen said. “No packs near the lake wanted new members.”
I must have let my puzzlement show.
"We are not the pack that a mother and two young wolves need. She's only had her first litter. She has many good years ahead of her. The young ones are ready to hunt on their own, however, they still need guidance. They need a real pack."
The wolves were a surrogate family of sorts for me while I ran from the Witch Hunters after Syram’s death. They stayed with me and then helped fight for my freedom. Greyback died protecting me in the woods that night.
We are pack… we run together… I remembered his last thoughts.
Gwen was correct. My steps and my path were not what the young wolfling Petram needed. I knew whenever I grew attached to someone they were only transitory attractions. I had too many centuries behind me not to understand that.
The wolves loped toward us. Mother and her two offspring approached me. Subtlety isn’t possible in the mental wolf speech. I understood, however, when she projected her thought.
"We are pack. We will run together."
She meant they had a new pack. There was a hint of an invitation to run with them.
“May your run be silent, and your hunt full of bounty,” I sent back. “Thank you for your aid, and your companionship. I am in your debt.” I wasn’t sure how those terms would translate in her mind, but it was the best I could phrase my gratitude.
“Pack leaders help each other. Packs live to run,” Mother sent.
Petram kept his eyes on me. He took a few tentative steps toward me. “We are pack?”
He didn’t want to change. He had bonded with me.
I crouched down and pulled Petram's face toward me, almost nose to nose. “You take care of your new pack.” I sent. “You’ll be a pack leader yourself someday. Go and learn.”
I tousled his fur and gave him an extra rub behind his ears.
"Go, run with your pack," I said. His head was low as he walked away. Tears welled in my eyes.
The wolves trotted away, along the lake’s edge. The elder wolf, the one I pegged as the pack leader, watched them go past. He followed once they have moved away. His thought flashed into my mind the wolves drifted into the distance.
“You are pack. We will run together.”
26
Scars
Gwen’s arm slid around me. She was quiet, yet understanding. I brushed a finger under my eyes. It came away wet. Yes, red tears. Blood fuelled my body. But, my spirit was my own, and right now was one of those bitter-sweet times that all of my centuries had not taught me how to avoid. Life is full of meetings and partings. Happy and sad times. I had more than a normal lifetime’s worth. They never got easier.
Gwen hugged me tight as we watched the grey and brown flashes of fur appear and disappear several times among the scrub near the shoreline.
“They must travel for a few weeks to get back to their territory on the eastern side of the Cymry kingdoms.” She kept her arm around me and gave me another squeeze. “By the time they get there, your friends will be a happy part of the pack.”
“I’ll still miss them,” I whispered.
“Where we are going, they won’t fit in,” Gwen said. I knew what she meant. We’d return to the world of men soon. Back to villages and townsfolk. Maybe even a noble or two.
“Where do I fit in?” I wondered aloud.
Gwen looked puzzled. “Why do you ask?”
"When I was sleeping today…" It was my turn to stare out at the lake in contemplation. I shared the story of the game and the silver and gold pieces. As I described the game, she interjected a word.
“Gwyddbwyll,” Gwen said. “That’s the game they played.”
I laughed. That was a bizarre word the way she pronounced it: Goo-eeth-boo-ee-hll. She looked like a dragon with hiccoughs trying not to burn a forest down when she said it.
She gave me a stern look, then giggled too. “It is a strange name. We Cymry seem to have a penchant for trying to invent words that make the speaker’s face contort into the silliest expressions possible.”
"What is this gooeethboo..." I said, trying to imitate her expression more than the word. Gwen ignored my antics.
"The Lady has a hallowed game, the game of kings," she said. "In the game, the board represents the land of Britain. It usually plays a role in the tales about how the king is to win the blessings of The Lady and gain sovereignty over his lands. If they misplace the board or toss it away, it signals a disconnection from the Lady, and the character must search for the board to regain sovereignty and the blessings of The Lady."
“Sounds easier to play than pronounce,” I added.
“Did you see the players?”
I related the vision. I described the hooded lady with the dragons embroidered on her gown and the ring on her finger.
“The Lady has blessed you with a vision of herself. The goddess wanted you to see this game. Who was the other player?”
I described him and pulled out every detail I could remember. The description, however, was sketchy at best. Gwen looked puzzled.
"The other player is usually someone who seeks to achieve a higher position or more power. There are all sorts of princelings who desire higher titles." She gazed off and tapped her index finger against her temple.
"Lord Fadog is the obvious choice. He is, however, already well beyond his level of competence. Perhaps Penda or Oswiu?" She glanced at me. A flush of embarrassment lit her cheeks. "Sorry, dearest. I was thinking aloud."
I chuckled and waved her to continue.
“When the Lady sends such signs, I can find the person amongst the princes and nobles of the various kingdoms. But this figure…”
She motioned for me to continue. I relat
ed how the reddish gold pieces surrounded the silver pieces in the centre, and the queen tried to escape.
“Gwyddbwyll is a game of one king, not a queen who had to fight his way off the board to win. The other pieces win when they capture the besieged king.” Gwen said.
“There was a third player,” I added.
Her eyebrows arched in surprise.
“He placed one piece,” I said, “an obsidian queen, dark as night, in the board's centre next to the silver queen.”
“You became that queen,” Gwen pronounced, rather than questioned. “What happened next,” she asked, her finger tapped her temple again.
“The other player said ‘So be it.’”
I mused in silence and tried to remember all the details.
“Where the other player’s pieces stood or moved,” I continued, “the board changed in appearance. Instead of bright gold, the squares shifted to the sick brown of death and decay. Those pieces were rotten within, despite their gilding.”
Gwen was quiet. She gazed out across the lake again.
"One other bit I found very interesting," I added. I wasn't sure how she'd react to this information. She cocked her head and waited for me to continue.
“Right before I joined the game pieces on the board, the other player, the dingy brown one, brought more pieces onto the board. I seemed to be the counter to the new pieces.”
“There are no rules to add new pieces once the game has begun,” Gwen said. “We are outside the rules of normal kingship,” she added. “I have sensed unease in The Lady’s tone of late. Now, I have the answer to that… part of an answer...” her voice drifted into silence.
Out on the lake, a fish leapt and splashed.
"I see now, why you are here," she said. "The normal roles are all mixed up." Gwen slid toward me and snaked her arm around my lower back. "We are the Lady's champions in this battle, whatever it is." She reached her other hand to my face and turned my chin towards her.
“Our fight will not be for a king’s sovereignty. Instead, we are playing for The Lady’s.”
“I don’t like being manipulated,” I said. “With the Witch Hunters on the island, I need to leave soon, and make my way somewhere else… away from the church and the Witch Hunters.”
“Not manipulated,” Gwen said. “Shown a path. Shown rewards. You have the final choice. You choose whether to walk the path. The Lady will not punish you if you do not take up her cause.”
“But, your husband…”
“He broke his vow to care for the people and neglected his stewardship.”
My hands covered hers. I kept my eyes there. There was no bandage on her wrist. I turned her arms over. Not a scar, not a scratch. She was well and whole. No sign she had cut herself to fill my cup, over and over for two weeks.
"You haven't said how much you donated. I suspect you gave more of your blood than I would normally take in a few months… or more," I looked back at her. "That much blood creates an emotional connection in me. When I feed too often or take too much from a single person, I'm drawn to them emotionally."
“We will give each other strength, and will do our best for The Lady.” She leaned her head against my shoulder. “For tonight, I am glad you are with me, Mair.”
I shook my head even as my hands drifted along her arms. I felt calm, loved, as I ran my hand up then down her flesh.
“I don’t like being played for a love-struck fool,” I said, my voicebarely above a whisper.
"There was a man I loved, about two decades ago," Gwen said, her voice soft in the night breeze. "He was a lord of the land and the first love I had since Arthur died. When he died, as I knew he must, The Lady told me I would love again. I didn't want to hear such talk." She turned to look at me. "Now, however, I want to know as much about you, and your nature as you will share. It's been your face I've seen in my dreams."
I wasn’t sure how I felt about a goddess directing my love interests. But, as I looked at Gwen, I couldn’t resist her smile.
“There is more to my nature you must know,” I explained as my fingers traced their way up the skin of her hand and onto her arm, “When my kind feed there is a sensual connection. Except in rare cases, I link my mind with my… donors. My pleasure from feeding mixes with their mind to create a sensual pleasure. If they are not aware of my feeding, when I must take from a person who sleeps, this becomes a pleasant dream of arousal for them.”
The air was silent as we sat. The frogs had taken a momentary break from their groaning chorus. I didn’t want to be manipulated by this goddess of Gwen’s. Nor did I want to leave Gwen’s side. Dammit! I was conflicted and didn’t know which way to go, or even if I would go. So I continued to speak, to tell her what I needed from my lovers.
"When my partner is aware, the sensual feelings from both of us mix and multiply. The pleasure becomes… well… divine in a way. We feed each other our pleasure, and it continues to grow. My time with my Master, before I crossed over, those nights of pleasure were intense. The more so since I loved him with all of my heart before he ever took blood and shared his pleasure with me." I turned to look into her eyes. "My master, he had a dozen or so of us in his villa. One person alone cannot give me enough blood to survive. I'd drain a single partner in a few months. Your body can't replace what I would take… "
I took her hand and turned it so I could trace my finger where scars should still be raw on her wrists. "Yet, somehow you did," I said.
"I had help," she said and gave me a little grin of embarrassment. "I did almost drain my body of blood. The Lady forced me to come to her through the mists. She healed me. And told me to return each day while you slept. She said you must awaken, for Britain's sake. The only way you would live was with more of my blood each night until you were whole again."
Gwen had sacrificed herself almost to death for me. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I sat and held her.
“But, I see your point, dearest,” she said a moment later. “You cannot have just one donor, one lover.”
"In the past," I added, my voice quiet, "I have found love with a few people… but, such loves must be special and open. My need for blood can kill my partner if I limit myself to one lover. Or, my need for others can drive away a partner that cannot understand my nature…" Gwen sat silent. I couldn't read her face, her emotions. Her eyes were a neutral shade of blue. Neither dark nor light.
I sighed before I continued. "I forget the problem that brought us together. The Witch Hunters are here. That means I must move on."
"How soon?" Gwen asked. She leaned into me and laid her head on my shoulder.
“Tomorrow… maybe next week… I don’t want to go…” I trailed off, not sure what I would say. I should think about moving on, not getting attached again. With the Witch Hunters in this land, I might draw their attention and place my friends in jeopardy.
“We will face tomorrow and all the tomorrows together,” her voice was soft yet firm.
“Eventually,” I said, as I slid my arm around her waist, “I will have to leave. I can’t stay where the Witch Hunters are…”
27
Connections
The next morning Gwen awoke her head on my lap again. She smiled at me and reached up to touch my face.
“We are quite a pair,” Gwen said. “Midnight and noon, darkness and light.”
I grinned in response.
“Well, we’ve got this mission from your Goddess. Aren’t we supposed to go save Britain?”
Gwen's laugh was musical in the foggy morning air. She touched my face and leaned up to kiss me before she rolled and stood.
“If I knew where to go, we would,” she said. She picked up one of our blankets and shook it out. I grabbed the other end and helped fold it.
"The Lady will send us a sign, something to let us know where to go." She raised the blanket to her face and sniffed. Then glanced down at her dress. The hem was mud-spattered as though she'd walked on the muddy roads for a week or more.
“
There is a pool and waterfall down below where we can do laundry, clean up, and keep you out of the sun,” she said. The dress she had given me didn’t appear that dirty, but I decided that a bath sounded more fun than another nap. And the lake in front of us while large didn’t have the shade I needed.
Gwen made a magical red slit appear in the log. She reached inside and came out with a small earthenware jar. Then handed it to me with a grin.
"Soap, and clean dresses," she said as she pulled them from her storage place in the Otherworld. We used the great oak, and the mists to travel to the valley below. From there she led me to a pool under the trees. We spread the blankets on the grassy bank, right at the edge of the sun. Gwen came to help me undress. We untied our laces then moved into the pool slowly, to get used to its chill. She had the linen dresses with her. We had already brushed the mud the best we could from the woollen outer dresses. I brought the soap, and together we scrubbed the underdresses.
“I prefer to store them clean and fresh,” she told me as we scrubbed and wrung the linen dresses. The floral scent of the soap reminded me of how she had smelled when I first awoke. “I wish I could get that old bear skin to smell this good,” she said. “At first I thought your dreams were because of the bearskin I had covered you with.” She handed me one end of the dress so we could twist it to wring the soapy water from it.
"Bearskins are portals to the dream world. If you listen to the bards' tales, you'll soon see that the gods use such skins to send dreams to a person. The bearskin provides a link between the Otherworld and this world."
We twisted the dress harder.
"When someone asks about a strange dream they've had, they've inevitably slept under a bearskin." She motioned for me to hang the first linen dress on one of the branches to dry.
“But, The Lady can reach out to you even without the usual tokens,” Gwen said. I shrugged at her words. I wasn’t sure I wanted the attention of a goddess.
