by Troy A Hill
The wily bishop turned his gaze on the witch hunters. “I received no such request either.” His eyes narrowed as he held the seeker’s gaze. “You must ask each Lord’s permission for recruitment of their retainers and yeomen. The local lords will know who they can spare.”
“Submit your request in writing in the morning,” Bleddyn said. “I shall send word to Canterbury once I make my decision.”
“For Meirionnydd, as well,” Caerwyn said. “Until then, inform us of any guild members in our lands, and what their purposes are.”
“As you request, Milords,” the seeker said.
“That is not all,” Bishop Heilyn said. “What else do you intend to do in these lands?”
The seeker blanched and shifted his eyes off to his assistant for a second. The old guilder had no comment. Bechard glanced around the lords and the rest of us. Well, he slid his eyes right over Gwen and I. We women were beneath his notice.
"We are to gather any items of a holy nature that show signs of miracles," Bechard said. His tone was hard and authoritative. "Those we deem to hold divine power, are to be sent back to Rome. There his excellency will determine how best to use them to support the church. The young lord's sword…"
“Will stay right where it is,” intoned the Bishop. “Rome has no say over the property of these lords and their people.” He crossed his arms over his wide belly. “You said yourself that your prayers aided Lord Cadoc and Sister Mair.”
"We will need to spend days examining the items, your grace," Bechard almost whined. "Should the Sword of Light not be of divine grace, we will gladly return it."
"The Sword of Light?" Bleddyn asked. "Surely you don't mean to say that is Arthur's sword? There is only one Sword of Light, and it was broken a century ago."
“Well… Ah…” Bechard started to look pale. His eyes darted around. “My apologies. Your language is fairly new to us. We heard the term and thought it was wider in its use. As for the sword, whatever it is called, we shall be most diligent in its care.”
The abbot peered at me. His eyes drifted down to my ivory cross, then back up. I thought I understood and gave a nod.
“Then perhaps Sister Mair will be so kind as to loan you her holy symbol?” Bishop Heilyn stated. “You may examine it. Should you find evidence of a divine miracle infused into it, you can demonstrate the evidence for myself and the Lords gathered here. Only then would we consider asking Lord Cadoc to give you the blade.”
“Well… I…” Bechard stammered. I smiled and pulled the cord with the cross over my head. After a few beats, he reached out and accepted it.
“We shall begin the examination in the morning,” Bechard said. He straightened his shoulders and passed the cross to his old servant.
“My lord Penllyn,” Bechard said. His tone shifted to one of contrition. “We have been in the saddle for too many days, sleeping on rocks and grass. We left our men at the foot of the hill, to do more of the same, but had hoped for hospitality…”
“As you noticed at the feast,” Bleddyn said. “Our keep and cottages are full of special guests already.” He gestured toward the bishop. “We have only one room for his grace and his retinue, and it only has one bed. You would be more comfortable with your own men. But we might find an empty board on the porch near the monks for you to lie on.” Bleddyn hooked a thumb at the porch behind him.
“Seeker Bechard,” the Bishop said, “while you are under my watch…”
“We of the Guild answer only to his Holiness in Rome,” Bechard interjected.
"When the Bishop of Rome comes to Cymru," this cagy bishop pronounced, "the other Bishops of Britain and I will gather in conference to consider his words. Until that time, you are in my see, and under my authority." Bechard stood straight but said nothing.
Bishop Heilyn thrust a finger at the witch hunter, and the torchlight caught the gem in his bishop's ring and set it glimmering. "See to it that all of your men, as well as you," he told the guilders, "live the life that our Lord and Saviour lived. You and your men are to be the humblest of servants and do nothing to cause harm to person nor beast while here. If any of your men do so, they are to be given to my authority. I will pass them on to these Lords if any of the misdeeds are against the people or the lands they protect."
“As your grace wills it,” Bechard said, but I could see the defiance grow in his eyes. Bechard bowed the smallest of bows possible. Then he spun on his heal.
The Seeker’s servant walked with him down to the gate. As they mounted their horses, Bechard turned back toward the lords at the top of the hill. They and the bishops paid him no more attention. But, I could tell from the way the Seeker held himself erect in the saddle, and with the long, lingering glare he gave the lords, the fire that had lit in his eyes wouldn’t be extinguished by any of the men standing here. They had made themselves a new enemy, one to rival Fadog, if not worse.
46
Shivers in the Grove
Lord Mechain and Bishop Heilyn headed toward the keep. The lords of Penllyn and Meirionnydd still stood with us. Their demeanour had recovered from the scare a few moments before. Gwen, however, still looked pale, even in the yellow light of the torches and fires.
“Come, Mair, let us inspect the grove to learn what we can about these spirits,” she said in her Gwen the leader tone. But, there was an odd catch in her voice.
“We’ll go with you,” Lord Penllyn said. “We’ve never had spirits here before. I want to know why now…” Gwen waved them off.
“We are better off alone in The Lady’s blessed grove. Your blades will fare poorly against what we saw before.”
The Lord of Penllyn opened his mouth to object. Gwen raised a hand. I thought I saw it quiver.
“Post a man here to run to find your son, if he sees the glow of my cross. Only Cadoc’s sword will be of use then.”
Bleddyn motioned for one of his men to stand watch from the base of the slope. Gwen pulled at my arm. I let her lead toward the scene of the ghost attack.
Her legs and hands trembled by the time we had reached the trees. I sensed her mind reach out. Her magic cord back to the goddess sparkled with energy as it probed the hillside. She shivered again as her probe died out.
I slowed to see if she was all right, but she pulled me uphill into the darkness. Once we had moved far into the back of the grove, she flung herself into my arms and collapsed onto me. Her entire body quivered. Her sobs drifted to my ears. She kept them quiet and used my dress and shoulder to muffle the sound.
I held her while she cried. This was Gwen the vulnerable. A Gwen I hadn’t expected. I wasn’t sure what to do for her other than give her time and comfort.
I stroked her hair, and kissed her forehead, but stayed quiet. This was her tale to tell. But first, she had to get over whatever was twisting her insides into a fearful knot. My stomach tightened, which was rare. Since I didn't eat, my gut stayed quiet, unless I felt extreme emotions. All I could do was hold her and wait for her anxiety to run its course.
Her sobbing slowed then stopped, and the trembling in her limbs quieted. I eased her down to sit on the soft loam under the trees. A tree had fallen in the past, and we could lean against it as we had done back at our lake. Gwen curled herself against me. I brushed her hair back from her face, in a gesture she had used on me many times before.
She whispered.
“Thank you, dearest, for being the rock while I was scared.” She laid her head on my shoulder.
"I have… I had…" trembles set into her again. She closed her eyes, swallowed hard and regained her composure. "I've encountered a spirit here in the earthly realm. That experience frightened me to my core." Her words were soft, however, her voice betrayed that she was on the verge of tears again. Her hand drifted to massaged her temple. I wasn't sure if she was developing a headache or reliving a memory. All I could do then was pull her tight against me, and kiss her forehead.
“Silly me,” she said. “The Lady Gwen, representative of the old gods, Mi
stress of The Divine Lady of Britannia. And I am scared of ghosts.”
I let her talk and take her time.
"Death does not frighten me," she continued. "I have seen it all too often, all too gruesome. I have seen souls move through the Otherworld in the cycle of being reborn, time and again. It's the lingering spirits, or the bodies re-animated. Those frighten me."
She sat for a time, her head still on my shoulder. I stroked her arm, where it lay across my lap, while I held her tight with my other arm.
"Once, a spirit took my body from me," another wave of shivers took her. Gwen drew a deep breath and got control of her body again. "I was with Ruadh, helping him escape his brothers. The spirit… she plunged into me. Her presence was ice in my veins, and I had no control. She… she used my link to the goddess… I've never felt so abused, not in control… unable to stop her from violating me…"
Ah, that explained her reaction. I pulled her in tighter and kissed her cheek. She fought another wave of shivers.
“Tonight, I panicked,” Gwen’s voice was quiet against my chest as I held her. “I have not seen the undead since that time with Ruadh, and it shook me…”
“Not seen undead?” I asked in mock surprise.
“Oh?... What… OH!” she giggled a little. “I didn’t mean you. You’re here now…” she smiled again. “Oh, Mair. You are a real person. Even though you were almost dead when I found you.”
"You mean, dead again, for real," I used a finger and pulled her chin up, so she looked into my eyes. "I do not need to breathe or eat or drink or," I waved my hand toward the building where we had spent the night, "or even use the bucket under the table in our room. I only need to sleep every few days, and I burrow into the earth to do so."
“I understand that,” she said. “But, you are still you. A person, not a ghost. What else is there yet to come, undead bodies and bones walking the land? Is that what we’ll be facing along with spectres and spirits?” she shuddered again. “Until now, I always viewed my death as a way to be one with The Lady, to spend eternity with her, serving her in the Otherworld. The thought that I could be controlled by another force, a spirit bent on destruction...”
I squeezed her close and kissed her head again.
"Thank you for being the brave one. The one without fear," Gwen said.
I shook my head.
“Except for the odd witch hunter,” she asked, “what do you have to fear?”
I wasn’t sure she would understand.
“Tell me.” Gwen the defiant, the confident was returning. I decided I might as well tell her.
“Love… family…” I said. “I don’t know yet if my feelings for you are because you shared so much of your blood when I was unconscious, or because we’ve been pushed by this goddess of yours? Or, if this desire is mine and mine alone. I must feed again in the next few weeks, and I don’t want to feed my passion from anyone except you. I must understand my heart, and that means blood from another person...”
“Feed from whoever you need, love. You will find your own heart, and we’ll know then.” She raised her hand and brushed my hair out of my face again.
“I cannot feed from you. Once every two weeks will keep my colour and body warmth at human levels.” Neither of us had ventured far down this road in conversation. “If we have battles ahead of us I will have to find other donors. You alone won’t be able to supply what I need.”
“I know how you feed, and what you said you give to the men you feed from,” Gwen said.
“Sometimes, my donors, they are women, too,” I replied.
"I know. Save the special times for me, dearest. I understand that you derive pleasure from your meals," she said. "You have to drink from your donors to live, dead or not. I ask only that I be the special one."
“Once I can be sure of that…” I said. Until I had blood from someone other than Gwen in me, I had no way of knowing what feelings toward her were my own, and what was blood – or Goddess—fuelled.
A step crunched on the path, and a rock skittered. A rough voice called out “Gwen, Mair?”
Gwen jumped at her name. Then relaxed. She wiped the tear stains off her face with her sleeve. I pulled her up while Ruadh climbed the hill.
“Bleddyn sent me to check on you two,” he said. “Did you find anything?” His eyes lingered on Gwen. His eyes were soft, full of care. Gwen nodded and gave him a weak smile.
“I’ll check now,” she said.
She activated her link to the goddess. I did as well and joined her thoughts as she led the mental search. Just like our first link, when I fed from her back by the lake, I sensed the dead. Forty or fifty bodies, skeletal or crumbled to dust by now, lay interred there. All of them were empty vessels, no sign of disturbance.
Gwen seemed satisfied and pulled our minds back to our bodies on the surface. My eyes opened first. Gwen took a deep breath. One of her hands trembled in my grasp.
“So, you nae find anything?” Ruadh asked. Gwen still had her eyes closed.
“Nothing,” she said. “No sign of anything disturbed.” Her eyes opened and drifted across the hillside. Searching. For what, I didn’t know.
“Something is different about this time,” she said. “I don’t wish to remember that… other time… this feels different, somehow.”
“I couldn’t sense any spirits, undead or anything other than the ground underneath us,” I said. “Even the dead in the crypts… they’re just… well, dead.”
Ruadh fixed his eyes on Gwen. Worry creased his face. After a moment, her gaze came back to us. She shrugged.
“Let’s go see what the Lords and Ladies are plotting for us to save them from tomorrow,” she said. Ruadh’s chest rumbled with a deep bearish chuckle.
47
In the shadows
The beast stayed at edge of the tree line as wind blew the aroma of wet wool toward him. The sheep in the yard, kept corralled by a flimsy wooden fence wouldn’t smell him. Not until it was too late.
Next to the pen, a wooden barn stood. Farm tools hung inside, or leaned against the walls. The lambs lay asleep in the dried grasses inside the shed. One or two rams drifted around the fence. The rest of the flock huddled around the lambs.
Beyond the barn stood a roundhouse. Stone and wood. Smoke drifted up through the thatch roof. Yellow light spilled from the wooden shutters, and from around the thick wooden door.
Laughter drifted to his sharp ears. The farm family inside enjoyed their evening meal. A lone female voice laughed with the other male voices. Two still cracked with the change age brought. A light, high chuckle might be that of a young girl. Perhaps a boy.
The beast didn’t care. Too long had gone between his kills. He had taken too many steps. Tonight, he would sate his thirst again. The taste of flesh between his jaws. His claws would rip and tear.
His fur stirred in the breeze. He slunk back. Waiting, to make sure the wind didn’t shift further. The livestock at the last three farms had stirred too soon. Farmers shouted and roused their neighbours. The communities had been too big. Three or four families together. He could take them. The chance that a lone survivor might escape his notice worried his master. Better to look for a lone farmstead like this one.
The lords of the land would learn of his deeds soon enough. Especially that lord of Penllyn. His master said to stay to Penllyn’s side of the border stones for a fortnight. Bring the lord of Penllyn out. His master had spoken.
The livestock hadn’t smelled him. They stayed still, settling in for the night.
The door cracked open, and a young boy stepped out. He stood only half the height of the man behind him.
“Take care to get it all in the trough,” the man in the door said. The young boy nodded and carried two buckets out toward the barn.
The beast moved. Age mattered not to him. He wasn’t here for food. He wanted to sow fear, to cause destruction, to taste death.
Steps silent as death in the night… that is what he was tonight. Death.
/> His claws struck. Hard. Sharp. Fast. The buckets hit the ground, though one fell into the trough and banged against the wood.
“Be careful, lad,” the man’s voice called behind him. The boy’s breath gurgled out as his blood coated the creature’s thick paw and claws. A step crunched behind him.
“Holy mother of the Saviour!” the farmer cried. He ran.
With a snarl the beast leapt after him. The farmer was closer to the house. The door slammed shut.
No matter. The creature had the strength. It wouldn’t hold for more than a blow or two. The rest of the family would feed his lust for death.
The beast raised a paw to his face. His tongue wiped the boy’s blood from his fur and claws. With a snarl he threw himself against the door as the farmer tried to force the bar into place. The wood creaked and groaned. They were too late.
Death had come.
Maria’s adventure continues in Book 2 of the Cup of Blood Series:
A Soul of Steel
The adventure continues
Maria’s adventure continues in Book 2 of the Cup of Blood Series:
A Soul of Steel
If you enjoyed this story, you can learn more about the people of Penllyn in The Penllyn Chronicles Collection 1. This collected volume includes: Penllyn, Emlyn, and Ruadh’s Stories, as well as never before published story Tempting Fae.
Get your copy of both today to continue the adventure.
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