Triskelion

by Avril Borthiry

  Kate nodded and whimpered. This was the realisation of a dream, tangible and true. Owen's body was solid and warm. He smelled of the world beyond the labyrinth, of horse and wolf, rain-washed earth and salt air. She hiccupped on a sob as his breath brushed across her hair and his voice melted against her ear.

  “Sshh.” He rocked her and pressed a lingering kiss to her temple. “You're safe now.” She sensed his gaze shifting to the altar. “Please tell me he didn't hurt you.”

  “No, he didn't,” she replied. “I'm –”

  Her father's voice cut through the air again.

  “You piece of filth,” he snarled, and Kate turned to see him approaching Elric. “These will be your final moments this side of Hell.”

  Elric gave a nonchalant shrug. “I do not fear you, Harrington, nor your sword. I'll dispense with you...” he turned a dark menacing gaze to Owen, “...and then him.”

  John's face twisted in a sneer as he swung his blade. Elric deflected the arc with ease, sparks flying from the violent clash of metal. The sound, like the peal of a cracked bell, echoed off the ancient walls. A rainstorm of noise followed as steel striking steel pelted the air, blending with the primal, determined grunts of both men.

  Kate flinched at each metallic blow. She could see the changes a week of anxiety had wrought in her father. He had lost weight, yet moved like a man burdened by chains. Elric's movements, in contrast, were precise and calculated.

  She had not foreseen the fight nor the outcome of it. One thing she knew without foresight – her strong-willed father would never yield to Elric. Years before, he had refused to yield to the wolf, and his tenacity had almost killed him. That tenacity remained. God willing, he would prevail again, but at what cost?

  A prayer for her father's life surely meant a wish for Elric's death. Kate yearned for freedom, but not the destruction of the man who had taken it from her. An image of his blood spilling across the floor twisted a knot in her belly. That image vanished as her father evaded a thrust from Elric's blade and staggered backwards. Kate drew a sharp breath.

  “Papa is weakening already,” she said, voicing her fear in little more than a whisper.

  “Aye, he is.” Owen leaned in and brushed his lips across hers. “Stay here, Kate. Guard her, Lio.”

  The wolf settled at her side as Owen rose to his feet, sword in hand. At the same time, Elric's furious shout resounded off the walls. Kate heard the rage in his voice and knew he had seen the kiss. Torchlight reflected off his sword, setting it alight as it swung in a vicious arc.

  This time, it did not miss.

  The blade struck John on the shoulder. Kate heard the crack of bone and watched her father crumple.

  “Papa!”

  Her scream split the air as she struggled to her feet. Choked by fear, she ran to where her father lay and dropped to his side. Did he yet live? Blinded by tears, Kate pushed her fingertips under his jaw, groping for a pulse. “Please,” she said, letting out a cry of relief when she found the steady beat beneath his skin. “Yes. Oh, thank God. Keep breathing, Papa. Please, keep breathing.”

  Lio, on silent paws, came and stood in front of them, a low growl rumbling through his chest.

  “You're a dead man.” Owen's voice, simmering with obvious rage, interrupted Kate's anxious vigil. She lifted her head.

  “I think not,” Elric replied, nodding to where Kate sat. For a brief moment, his eyes met hers, unfathomable in their expression. “She'll never be yours, Welshman.”

  Owen shrugged and gave him a sober smile. “I believe she already is, as I am hers. But I suspect you know that, don't you?”

  Like a brittle bone, Elric's remaining control visibly snapped. He gave a tortured howl, his face twisting into a mask of fury as he launched himself at Owen. The point of his frenzied blade caught Owen's arm, drawing a dark stain of blood through the pale weave of his shirt.

  Owen's resulting snarl was echoed by Lio. The wolf pushed a rattled breath between bared, drooling teeth. He lowered his bristling haunches and poised to leap, his yellow eyes fastened on Elric. Kate's hand flew to her mouth, capping a lungful of air.

  “Stay, Lio,” Owen shouted, cutting the air with a diagonal stroke of his blade. “I have him.”

  Elric flinched and stumbled back, fresh blood dripping from a hairline slash across his cheek. His eyes met Kate's again and held them for a moment. This time, the flicker of despair on his face was unmistakable.

  Kate blinked and released the air from her lungs, conscious of something stirring deep within her mind. Overcome by a profound sense of regret, she had the impression of unattained desires and impossible dreams crumbling to dust. She perceived the quiet capitulation of an empty soul, once innocent, but now tainted and defiled.

  A godless soul, utterly bereft of hope, was preparing to die.

  But it was not hers.

  “You were born for this night, Katherine. Created for it.”

  Her gaze drifted to the coals still glowing red atop the altar and a terrible weight pressed on her heart. It was, she realized, the burden of awareness.

  “Will you give it? Will you give me what I want without a struggle?”

  Elric was, without doubt, facing his demise at the hands of the man she loved. The ongoing fight had travelled to the edge of the crevasse, Owen's relentless attack steering them ever closer to the deadly precipice. Elric must have sensed it, for he shifted direction, only to find himself backed up against the cavern wall.

  Trapped.

  In a sudden move, Owen twisted his blade around Elric’s, gave it a sharp flick, and pulled it from his grasp. The sword somersaulted in the air, seeming to hover at its apex for a moment before plunging into the darkness of the crevasse.

  Chest heaving, sweat-soaked hair clinging to his skull, Elric eyed Owen like a cornered rat. Even in defeat, traces of defiance still flared in his eyes. Blood, dripping from his chin, splashed onto the silver medallion and settled into the spirals.

  Owen pushed the point of his sword into Elric’s throat, drawing yet another rivulet of blood from the pale skin.

  “I commend you on a battle well fought,” he said, “but it's over. Say a prayer for your soul, Elric, and get ready to meet your –”

  “No!” Kate ran between them and stood with her back to Elric, her heart pounding so hard she shook. “No, Owen, don't kill him. Please.”

  Owen gasped and lowered his sword. “Kate, what are you doing? This man cannot be allowed to live.”

  “This man...” she swallowed, stifling an urge to cry, “…has never been allowed to live.”

  Owen shook his head. “I don't understand. What –?”

  “You once asked me if I trusted you. Remember?”

  Owen frowned. “Aye, I remember. But what does that have to do with –?”

  “And I do trust you, Owen, with my life. I love you. I loved you even before we met. But please, I need you to trust me too.”

  Owen shook his head again. “He merits no mercy from you, Kate.”

  “No,” she whispered, turning to face Elric. “But mercy is not what he wants from me.”

  Pale and bloodied, Elric stared at her through feverish eyes, his chest still heaving.

  “What are you doing, Katherine? The Welshman is right. It's over. I shall never leave this place alive.”

  “I'm giving you what you want, Elric.” She smiled through a veil of tears. “And I'm giving it to you willingly.”

  Like a child revealing a secret, Kate unfurled her left hand, exposing what lay hidden within. Elric's breath caught, his eyes widening as they looked past her to the altar.

  Kate knew what he would see upon the ancient slab. The cauldron still held the burning coals and the air still shimmered with heat, but the branding iron now lay discarded to one side. It had, after all, served its purpose.

  In the palm of Kate’s hand, the raw outline of three spirals had been burned into the skin. Elric's fingers sought out his bloodied, silver medallion as he turned a bewil
dered gaze back to her.

  “For...me?” he rasped. “Why?”

  “I was born for this night,” she said, placing her blistered palm against his cheek. “Created for it. And I have been well prepared, for I had a good teacher. So, focus your mind, my lord, and take what you want.”

  Elric placed a trembling hand over hers and closed his eyes. Kate closed her eyes too, and allowed him entry to her mind. His exploration was wary at first, hesitant, as if he feared what he might find.

  He did not have to search.

  Whatever had been released by the Triskelion emerged from the depths of her subconscious and reached for him. Light, as brilliant as the sun, yet effortless to look upon, filled every corner of Kate's mind. The images moving within it were obscured, at least to her. Somehow, though, she knew Elric could see them in every detail. A heady feeling of euphoria made her skin tingle and settled a gentle ache beneath her ribs.

  Elric's hand tightened on hers as his tears splashed onto their joined fingers.

  And she felt the absolute renewal of his soul.

  Forever, Katherine

  She opened her eyes and shook her head. Elric's silent words were, she sensed, a farewell of sorts. But she wouldn't allow his death. Not at Owen's hands. Not now.

  Owen, his voice replete with selfless concern, spoke.

  “Kate? Are you alright?”

  She turned to reassure him, to plead with him – this man she loved with all her heart. As she did so, she felt Elric pull away, his intention spearing her consciousness with a sudden, sickening realization. A scream tore from her as she spun back, too late to stop him.

  With his cloak spread like great black wings, Elric stepped off the edge and plunged into the depths of the crevasse.

  Chapter 22

  Kate gazed out across the waves and drank a lungful of cool fresh air, relishing the feel of soft earth beneath her feet. The sky had never seemed so infinite, nor the sea so vast. Both wore a soft grey veil of twilight, edged by a ribbon of dawn's light along the eastern horizon.

  The fateful midsummer night was almost over.

  Yet, despite the beauty around her, Kate's heart ached. Freedom had lifted her spirit, but it couldn't quite lift the weight of her sadness. Elric's unforeseen suicide had shaken her to the core. She mourned the loss of the man whose dark soul had dared to embrace hers.

  At the same time, guilt demanded justification for her grief. That same dark soul might yet be responsible for killing her father. He still lay broken and bleeding in the belly of the dragon, awaiting rescue, his life in God's hands. The image of him falling beneath Elric's blade sickened her. Why, then, should she feel anything but gratified by Elric's death? She swallowed against a sob, her frayed emotions sagging beneath the burden of guilt and sorrow.

  Somewhere beyond Maughold Kirk's ruins came the jangle of horse harness and the muffled voices of men. Soon after Kate's deliverance from the labyrinth, a detachment of knights had arrived from Castle Rushen, led by Owen's mentor and master, Lord Weylin. Their arrival was expected, Owen explained. He bid her wait by the church, with Lio as her guard, while he scurried off to greet and advise them.

  His report, he said, would be basic. Elric was no longer a threat, Kate had been rescued, and John Harrington needed urgent assistance. That was all the knights needed to know. Anything else was of no consequence to them. Of them all, only Lord Weylin, was aware of the questionable details behind her abduction.

  She fidgeted and turned toward the voices, thoughts of her father's predicament sending ripples of panic through her mind. He needed help desperately. What was taking so long? At that same moment Lio stood, his tail wagging in obvious pleasure.

  Kate sighed with relief at the sight of Owen striding toward them through a swathe of early morning mist. Her sad heart skipped. This vision she had seen many times in her sleep and, for an exquisite moment, all else was forgotten. Overcome by a need for his touch, she picked up her skirts and ran to him with Lio at her heels.

  Owen captured her and pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. “Kate.” Her name sounded like a prayer on his lips. She closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat, loving the warmth of his body against hers. “We're going back in to get your father,” he murmured. “Lord Weylin and two of the knights will stay here with you.”

  Kate pulled back, frowning. “No, Owen. I'm coming with you.”

  He shook his head, a hint of amusement in his tired eyes. “Now, how did I know you'd say that? Sweetheart, please, I'd prefer if you'd wait here. Besides,” he stroked her hair, “Weylin wishes to speak with you. He's eager to meet Adela's child. The last time he saw her, you had not yet been born.

  She sighed. “I hate to think of you going back in there.”

  “I feel the same about you. I never want you to set foot in that place again.” He glanced over at the ruins. “Don't worry. We have Lio to guide us. We'll be back in no time.”

  Kate followed his gaze and saw several knights waiting by the church entrance. Drawn by movement, her eyes then drifted to another figure walking toward her through the twilight. She blinked at the unlikely sight. Draped in the rich colours of a forest, the man moved with fluidity, despite the obvious burden of his years. His white hair, capped off with a feathered hat, fell in curls to his shoulders. It matched the equally white and curly beard, which fanned out across his chest.

  His dark eyes, it seemed, were fixed solely on her.

  Captivated by the mystical image he presented, Kate returned his scrutiny, conscious of a strange sense of recognition. But how could that be? She had never seen the man before. Owen voiced what she'd already surmised. “Lord Weylin,” he said, by way of announcement. “I'll leave you to his counsel, sweetheart. I must go.”

  A fresh flutter of fear arose in her stomach as she turned back to him. “I pray Papa still lives.”

  “I'm certain he does.” Owen bent to kiss her and spoke the sweet words she had heard once before. “Don't be afraid, Katherine Rose.”

  Then, summoning Lio with a snap of his fingers, he turned to leave.

  Moments later, a voice spoke behind her.

  “You have the look of your mother, child.”

  The words fell on her ears as any words might, except the sound of them surpassed her mortal perception and echoed in the far corners of her mind. Every nerve in her body tingled as awareness took hold.

  She turned to him, wide-eyed with shock, unable to speak. He bowed his head, the pheasant feather in his hat bobbing as he did so.

  “My name is Weylin,” he said. “It pleases me greatly to see you delivered unharmed from Elric's hands, my lady.”

  “It's you,” she said, her voice shaking. “My God. It's you. The voice. The one I kept hearing in my head.”

  Weylin's face brightened with a smile of satisfaction. “Ah! So I did reach you. I wondered if I had. I prayed that I had. Good.” He presented his right arm. “Walk with me, Katherine.”

  She ignored the offering and instead lifted his hand, pressing her lips to his knuckles.

  “God bless you, my lord. But how? How did you do it?”

  Weylin chuckled and looped her arm through his, patting her hand like an approving grandparent. “Well, now. It seems I'm just one of several gifted people who have been conceived in the bedchambers of our little Welsh village over the years. I doubt my thoughts would have reached just anyone. I hoped, and now must assume, that you and I share a certain legacy. An inherited bond, perhaps. I'm beyond pleased that I could help. Come. I'm eager to walk. My poor arse is numb after so many hours in the saddle.”

  His comment drew a smile from Kate. “Your words gave me strength,” she said. “I survived because of you.”

  “You survived because of who you are, my dear. I just gave you a little encouragement.” Weylin's expression turned grim. “Owen told me of the prior’s involvement, and the circumstances of his demise.”

  “The man was...evil. Cruel.” Kate shivered. “It seemed he had so
me kind of hold on Elric. I saw the marks of his lash on Elric’s back. It...it was...” Words failed her as a lump formed in her throat.

  “And what of him, Katherine?”

  “Of Elric?” She forced the painful response from her lips. “Elric is dead, my lord.”

  “Are you sure? Did you see his lifeless body?”

  “No, but he could not have survived such a fall.” Kate swallowed over the tightness in her throat. “At least, I hope he didn't survive it.”

  Weylin nodded. “After all you have been through, I can understand why you might harbour such a wish.”

  “Oh, no.” She shook her head. “No, my lord. My hope for Elric's death does not stem from vengeful thoughts. 'Tis only that I cannot bear to think of him lying on the rocks, broken and in pain, with no hope of rescue. He...he has suffered enough.”

  “Hmm.” Weylin paused his stride, took her left hand, and turned it palm up to study the burned skin. “Tell me. Does this pain you?”

  His awareness of the mark surprised her. “Owen told you of this too?”

  “No, he did not.” Weylin's expression softened as he studied her. “He didn't have to. You are, after all, Adela's child.”

  Unsure of what he meant, she looked down at her blistered palm, her mind wandering back to the moment she had lifted the iron from the fire. It had been an act of sheer madness, driven by an ancient compulsion too strong to resist. Yet it had felt so...right. Like it was...meant. She wrinkled her nose, recalling the sharp smell of charred flesh as the Triskelion left its mark.

  “It's most odd,” she said, lifting her eyes to Weylin's. “It pained me not at all. Indeed, I swear I never felt a thing.”

  “But you could not have known that until you pressed the iron to your skin. It took great courage to do what you did.” Weylin traced a fingertip across her hand. “Do you understand the importance of the vision you shared? Do you know what it means?”

  “Not really. The images in my head were obscured by light. I saw only Elric's reaction to them.” Kate frowned. “No, I felt his reaction. It was as if his soul had been renewed. Does that make sense?”