“About time.” The giant gave an exaggerated sniff and spat at the ground between them. “Christ, Gavin. You stink.”
Gavin's smile dissolved as he scratched at a flea-bite on his belly. “As would you, lord, had you passed any time in such a place.”
The giant curled a corner of his lip. “I've passed time in worse places. Tell me your news, then. The messenger said it was urgent.”
“Madoc's son is here.” Gavin's nervous fingers picked at another bite on his scalp. “He arrived this afternoon.”
“And?”
“Well, I managed to hear some of what they said. It seems the son is the one chosen to prevent the marriage, but he doesn't appear to know anything of the prophecy. At least, not yet.” Gavin fidgeted, his lungs drawing a fresh breath of air. “Their discussion was interrupted by Compline, but from what I heard, it seems Elric's suspicions are correct. The wench is having dreams...or visions. She has seen Madoc's son in them and another man besides. I'm not sure who. I'll try and find out more tomorrow.”
To Gavin's relief, the giant's scowl relaxed, his eyes widening with apparent interest. “At last,” he said, “something worthy to impart. 'Tis about time you earned your pay, you useless little shite. Aye, continue with your surveillance and meet me here again tomorrow night. Take care not to be noticed.”
Emboldened by his overdue success at subterfuge, Gavin huffed and lifted his chin. “'Tis an abbey, my lord, and I'm dressed as a monk. They all believe me to be Brother Michael. I'm no more noticeable than --”
A pair of large fists grabbed his robe and heaved him onto his tiptoes. Gavin howled like a smacked pup as a patch of chest hair ripped from his skin.
“You pathetic little privy rat.” The giant's mouth sprayed flecks of spittle across Gavin's face. “We're less than two weeks from the solstice and Elric grows impatient. There's much at stake here, including your own miserable head if you don't give me what I need.”
Gavin gritted his teeth and jerked his face away from a wave of putrid breath. “I... I'm sure I'll have more news tomorrow night, but I see no reason why Elric should not take the lass now. 'Tis apparent she's the one.”
“He needs to be sure.” The giant released him. “Meet me back here at the same time tomorrow and tell me what I need to know.”
Gavin nodded, grimacing as he rubbed his raw chest. “Tomorrow, aye.”
The giant swung into the saddle and gathered up the reins. He made to turn the big horse but paused, his yellow-toothed sneer penetrating the gloom. “And Gavin?”
“My lord?”
“Wash that damn stink off your skin.”
“Bastard,” Gavin hissed as horse and rider disappeared into the night. “May God rot you and yours.” Still rubbing his chest, he stumbled along the path back to the abbey.
~ ~ ~
Owen paced his room. Thoughts rushed through his head like the torrent he had witnessed earlier, only this time the rainfall did not cease. His mind overflowed, washing away any hope of sleep.
“I was taken. To him. To the Dark One. They hurt me, Owen.”
Was Kate's dream truly a prediction? Was she actually witnessing a future event? His father believed she had. He had been certain - adamant even.
Edgar may not be worthy of her, but he is not the true threat to Katherine.”
Owen sighed. He had so many questions and not a single answer. He might have learned more had the bell for Compline not sounded. Its steady toll had put an end to conversation for the day, proclaiming not just the prayer service, but the subsequent rule of silence. Madoc had allowed Owen to escort him to the chapel, but refused to utter another word beyond those whispered in worship.
So now he had no choice but to wait, taunted by what he knew and tortured by what he did not. With a groan of impatience, he went over to the window and pushed it open, seeking to clear his cluttered thoughts. The black silhouette of the abbey thrust skyward, its main tower pointing to the heavens like a mighty finger. Owen's gaze followed its direction. He drank in the peaceful splendour of the night while his lungs swallowed the cool, salty breeze.
That same breeze carried sounds from the nearby forest; the gentle whisper of wind in the leaves, the soft hoot of an owl and... a man's voice? Owen dropped his gaze and squinted into the darkness, wondering if his tired mind was playing tricks. No, for not only could he hear a faint mumbling, he also saw the cowled figure of a monk emerge from the trees behind the guesthouse. A familiar prickle lifted the hair on his arms and Owen frowned, for the monk's gait was also familiar.
“Brother Michael,” he muttered. “What might you be up to at this hour?”
The man paused to look around as he passed the guest house and Owen ducked out of sight. A moment later, he heard the shuffle of sandals and peered out to see the monk scuttling along the path toward the infirmary. What had Brother Michael been doing in the woods in the middle of the night?
“Not even this place can keep the demons out, son.”
Something unsettling twisted in Owen's gut. Overwhelmed by a sudden and inexplicable concern for his father's safety, he slipped his dagger into his belt and ran downstairs.
He ignored the infirmary's main entrance. Instead, he scurried around the side of the building to his father's window, which still stood open. Madoc's soft snores drifted out of the dark and Owen allowed himself a sigh of relief. He hoisted himself up and clambered into the room. A cup sat on the table and he picked it up to sniff at the remains of whatever it had held. He cringed at the pungent herbal odour. Some type of tisane, no doubt.
Assured that his father slept peacefully, Owen tiptoed into the unlit hallway. There he paused, breath locked in his chest as he listened. Apart from the weak echoes of suffering from the infirmary, nothing disturbed the darkness. Brother Michael, it seemed, had crawled into whatever hole he slept in.
Owen knew sleep would not be visiting him that night. He hurried back to the guesthouse, snatched a lantern from the table in the vestibule, and headed toward the forest. It didn't take him long to find a narrow path that led back into the trees with evidence of recent footprints pressed into the mud.
The shadows seemed to pull him into the woods, which harboured a residual air of malevolence. “Wish you were with me, Lio,” he whispered, suppressing a shiver, knowing the wolf would serve as both tracker and protector.
After a short while, he came upon a small empty clearing. Thankful to be out of the shadows, Owen looked up at the moon, its bright crescent crisscrossed by bats streaking across the sky. The breeze ruffled the tree tops, but otherwise the woods were silent.
The footprints he had seen on the path belonged, no doubt, to Brother Michael. When he saw the second set of prints in the clearing, he let out a soft curse.
“Who the hell are you?” he muttered, stunned by the size of the man's foot. Large hoof prints were also evident, both arriving and leaving in a westerly direction. For a moment, Owen toyed with the idea of following horse and rider, but realized it would be folly to do so afoot. Besides, he suspected all the answers he sought lay back at the abbey with Brother Michael.
By the time Owen returned to his room, the night was in retreat and the bell was calling the monks to the first service of the day. He splashed some cold water on his face, grimacing at the two-day growth of stubble on his chin. Perhaps a shave would refresh him.
He found Madoc awake, seated in his chair by the window, fingering his prayer beads. Remnants of a meagre breakfast sat on a tray on the table. The sight of it set Owen's stomach growling, and it occurred to him he hadn't eaten in almost a day. Yet he couldn't go in search of food. Not yet. First he needed to satisfy his hunger for answers.
“Good morning, Da.” Owen settled himself at his father's side. “You look more rested today.”
Madoc grunted, his eyes searching Owen's face. “While it appears you have not slept at all, my son. Although you look better without the beard.”
Owen gave a weary shrug “I have much on my mind
.”
“If Katherine looks as her mother did, I'm not surprised.”
“What was she like?”
“Adela?” Madoc smiled. “She was stubborn, beautiful and spirited. Sound familiar?”
Owen returned the smile. “Aye, it does. In truth, I had not thought to feel for Kate as I do.”
“She feels for you too?”
“I believe so.”
“Good. We hoped for such an outcome. But this threat is a danger to her. Indeed, to both of you.”
“I don't understand, Da. Who threatens her? And how do you know of her dreams? She has told no one but me.”
Madoc took a deep breath. “Close the window, Owen.”
“What?”
“The window. Close it. I would not have the demons hear what I'm about to tell you.”
Owen frowned as he did his father's bidding. Madoc appeared lucid enough, yet the continued reference to demons undermined the foundations of rationality. There were those who placed blame for ill-luck on unseen dark spirits or mischievous fae, but his father had never been one for such beliefs.
“Trust me, son,” said Madoc. “I know what I'm about.”
“But...demons, Da?”
“They didn't bother me last night, thank God.” Madoc brought the prayer beads to his lips. “Perhaps because you are here.”
Owen's weary mind sparked with a vague suspicion. “What do these demons want?”
“They want her.” Madoc's expression softened. “The twelfth progeny.”
A cloud, it seemed, passed over the face of the sun, plunging the chamber into sudden gloom.
Owen glanced at the window, where the first spots of rain spattered against the thick glass. “You mean Kate?”
Madoc shifted in his chair and regarded Owen with a thoughtful expression, as if contemplating a response. A few moments passed before he spoke.
“When news of Katherine's birth reached our village, the elders called a meeting to discuss the child’s birthright. All the women born to the ancient line, without exception, have been blessed with certain...abilities. Adela was a powerful healer, as was her mother before her. We wondered if this newborn would inherit a similar trait. There were those who doubted it, stating her blood had likely been tainted by her English sire. Of course, our discussion at that point was all conjecture and presumption. William, I remember, said little throughout the meeting. I noticed he seemed preoccupied, somehow. Only when the rest of us had spilled our thoughts did he finally speak, and what he told us changed everything.”
Madoc cleared his throat and gestured to the jug on the table. Owen rose and filled a goblet. “You will tell me if you tire, Da,” he said, passing the drink to his father.
Madoc took a gulp, waved Owen's request away, and continued with his telling.
“William reminded us of an ancient prophecy, a tale obscured by the shadows of time. It tells of a child, the twelfth in succession. A child born from the body of a wolf; a visionary with the power to see beyond the moment. We believe Katherine is that child.”
Owen rubbed his temple, grappling with a sudden urge to laugh. “With respect, my lord father, 'tis a fine tale, but one woven, surely, to amuse those seated around the campfire. Adela was no wolf.”
“Ah, but do you not see, my son?” Madoc leaned forward. “Adela met her English knight the day the wolf died. But for that fateful event, Katherine would not have been born.”
Owen shook his head, frowning. “But she can't control her dreams. They come to her unbidden. Besides, she told me these occurrences are recent. They haven't been there since birth.”
Madoc sighed and relaxed back into his chair. “The powers in these women never manifest in childhood. Katherine's gift is still in its infancy, but she'll soon learn how to invoke her visions and decipher the messages in her mind. 'Tis just a matter of time.”
Owen stepped to the window, not seeing beyond the doubts clouding his mind. “Why the twelfth progeny? Who was the first?”
“You already know her name, my son. It has endured through the centuries and will, I'm certain, endure many more.” Madoc’s eyes darkened as he spoke. “She was the daughter of Igraine and half-sister to Arthur. Her body lies with her step-father, Uther Pendragon, near the plain of great stones. She was the most powerful of her kind. Her name was Morgan Le Fay.”
The hair on Owen's neck prickled. “You mean...the sorceress?”
“Sorceress. Pah!” Madoc curled his lip. “A false title bestowed upon her by those who would twist the truth. Morgan was a healer and a visionary, a woman of great wisdom, entrusted with the safekeeping of a great secret.”
Owen raised a brow in question and Madoc gave him a reproachful look.
“Have you forgotten the stories from your childhood, lad? You know it as Ynys Afallon. The English call it Avalon. 'Tis said to be a heaven on earth, a domain of eternal peace and serenity. Some say it is an isle, shrouded in a magical mist. Others believe it to be a cavern filled with treasure, buried deep in the earth. All speculation. Only Morgan knew the truth of it. Until now. Until Katherine.”
The outlandish claim rendered Owen speechless. He studied his father's face, seeking signs of delusion or bemusement, but saw neither. As his mind wrapped around his father's words, he at last found some of his own.
“But how can Kate know this...this secret of Ynys Afallon? How is it possible?”
“The knowledge has likely been with her since birth.” Madoc shrugged. “For now, she is unaware of it, and will remain that way unless she performs the ceremony, or is forced to do so.”
“Ceremony?”
“Let the king’s spirit rest until the feast of St John, when the twelfth in line, born of the wolf and untouched by man, stands before the fire of Uffern. Upon this maiden's flesh the Triskelion must burn. Only then will she tell of the king's return.” Madoc's gaze dropped to the prayer beads in his hand. “That is the prophecy, verbatim.”
“'Tis some kind of witchcraft.”
“Witchcraft? No. An ancient rite, aye. The ceremony must be held on the summer solstice - the feast of St John. A fire is lit and an iron Triskelion placed in it until red-hot. Katherine, untouched and virtuous, must be branded with the symbol to invoke the vision of Ynys Afallon.”
Owen's gut clenched. “God's teeth. Surely you cannot believe such...such pagan nonsense.”
Madoc shook his head. “Do not underestimate the ancient ways, Owen, nor those who still practice them. We believe Katherine is in danger. We fear we're not the only ones who have been watching her all these years.”
“This man she has seen in her dreams?”
“The Dark One. Aye.”
“Who is he?”
Madoc shifted in his chair. “We didn't know who he was when he arrived in the village. He spoke our language, asked for food and shelter, so we gave it to him. He said his name was Elric. He was young - perhaps the age you are now. You had not long been born and Adela had not yet met her knight. Elric soon became besotted with Adela. Her powers of healing fascinated him and he followed her everywhere to watch her work. Adela didn't like his obsession with her, although she always treated him kindly. It was she who first called him ‘the Dark One’. She claimed he could look into people’s minds and steal their thoughts. To our regret, we doubted her claim and did nothing about it. Elric was indeed an oddity, but we didn't think him harmful.”
Madoc paused for a moment, his gaze drifting past Owen to the window.
“He was at the cliffs the day the wolf died. He watched Adela place her healing hands on the knight's broken body. When she stayed behind, he became sullen and aloof. When he heard of her marriage, he flew into a rage, insisting we bring her back by force. Some of the villagers supported him, but they and he were voted down. After that, Elric remained in the village, but became something of a recluse. Then, one day, news came of Adela’s child. After the meeting of the elders, Elric pulled William aside and asked what we had discussed, but Will refused to speak of it.
Things turned violent and blades were drawn. Elric received a cut to the face before we managed to break up the fight. He disappeared that same night. That was twenty years ago. We've seen nothing of him since.”
“Then why, pray, do you believe him to be a threat now?”
Madoc turned his gaze back to Owen. “Because on that final night, Will awoke to find Elric standing at the side of the bed. Will couldn't move, nor could he speak. 'Twas like he had been afflicted by some strange paralysis. He said Elric smiled and touched his hand to Will's cheek. Adela’s charge was justified, it seems, for he likened the episode to a rape of his mind. That being so, Elric must have learned all we had discussed in the meeting, including the prophecy. We believe he's watched her ever since, waiting for a sign that the prophecy is true. The fact Katherine has seen him in her dreams indicates his intentions. He wants what she has. He wants Morgan's secret and the solstice is less than two weeks away.”
Owen paused on the steps outside the infirmary, trying to absorb all he had just learned. The salty rain cooled his skin and diluted the odour of sickness that clung to his clothes and hair. It failed to soothe the turbulence in his mind.
“...perhaps I'm some kind of witch...”
Kate might have been standing at his side, so clear was the sound of her voice in Owen's thoughts. The lass was no witch, that he knew. But this gift – or perhaps this curse - she had inherited was a dangerous possession. He wanted to return to Wraysholme right away, to be near her, to protect her. Yet his incorrigible instinct suppressed the impetuous urge. Before he could leave, Owen needed answers to questions not yet asked. He felt certain Brother Michael's suspicious behaviour had something to do with Kate, and warranted further investigation. Also, while he tried to ignore it, he had the disheartening feeling that Madoc's time was near. Obligation and conscience combined, pulling him in two directions.
He blinked against a sudden wave of dizziness, which forced a mild curse from his lips. He needed rest. More than that, he needed food. Hunger, like a feral beast, growled in his stomach. Yet for the life of him, he couldn't remember the way to the refectory.
Triskelion Page 9
