Linda Barlow

by Fires of Destiny

  She also grew mullein, St. John’s wort, tanzy, chamomile, cinquefoil, and fennel, all important remedies for various ills; and, in one corner apart from the others, the powerful narcotic poisons: henbane, wolfsbane, hellebore, and deadly nightshade. The uses of these plants were unclear to Alexandra and she was not permitted to touch them. Even in small quantities, their distillate could kill, although there were many nonlethal uses for them. “Ye’re an apt pupil, but never can ye be an initiate,” Merwynna had told her when refusing to explain the rites that depended upon these plants. “Such knowledge is not for ye.”

  When the herbs were gathered, Alexandra and Merwynna carried them into the cottage to sort them. Some would be mixed into brews, others dried and stored for the winter. Now that the ritual picking was over, they could talk, so Alexandra launched into her story about Ned’s broken dagger, and her meeting with Roger and Francis Lacklin.

  Merwynna knew Ned. He was the only other person who made his home in Westmor Forest, although not even she was certain exactly where he lived. “I havna’ seen the lad for some days. The last time we met there was a shadow round about him.”

  “A shadow? What does that signify?”

  Merwynna’s gnarled fingers made the sign against evil. “I offered him an amulet to wear about his neck. ‘Twould ha’ warded off the dark powers, but he didna’ seem to understand. He fled, the fool.”

  “Ned’s usually not so timorous. He acted oddly that day when Roger caught him lurking near the road. Even after Roger put his sword away, Ned was still afraid.” She looked into Merwynna’s black pool eyes. Her friend had an angular face, with a bony nose and narrow lips; her skin was dry and thin as parchment. Her braided hair had long been white, but her eyebrows remained dark and bushy, giving her face an undeniable forcefulness. “Is there any reason why Ned should fear Roger?”

  “Bring Roger to visit me and I shall tell ye.”

  “But surely you remember him?”

  “I remember the lad he used to be, but I know not what path he’s followed since he left his home. Deeply troubled, he was, growing up torn betwixt two warring parents. He is Scorpio; ye must beware the men of his birth sign.”

  “He and I ought to be compatible, then. I am Pisces.”

  Merwynna gave her a sharp-eyed look. “Do ye burn for him?”

  Sometimes it could be unnerving, knowing a witch. “It scarcely matters, since he doesn’t burn for me.”

  Merwynna shrugged. “There are ways.”

  Perhaps there were, but Alexandra didn’t think she wanted to bewitch Roger Trevor, or any other man. It would be dishonest, and besides, what would happen when the spell wore off?

  “He draws me,” she admitted. “But I don’t understand him. I like to be able to understand people. I like things to make sense.”

  Merwynna nodded slowly. “Ye strive with yer mind, analyzing the world and all the people in it. Ye come to me, ye go to the farms to talk with peasants, ye read all those ancient historians and poets, filling yer brain with knowledge.”

  Thinking she was being praised, Alexandra said, “I also waste a good deal of time dreaming.”

  “Ye waste all of yer time. No soul may know the hearts of people nor the mysteries of the gods by means of reason. Ye’re proud, my daughter. Ye shall suffer for it.”

  Alexandra was stung by this criticism. “I don’t put all my trust in reason. I wouldn’t be here with you if I did, would I? I have faith in God and in the powers that dwell here in the forest. I’ve no desire to unravel divine mysteries. I simply wish to solve the human ones around me.”

  Merwynna simply frowned and repeated, “Ye are proud.”

  Alexandra sighed. Merwynna was always urging her to rely more upon her intuition. She gathered up the last bunch of herbs and tied them into a bundle while Merwynna swept the table clear. “Forgive me my pride, then, and use your magic to help me solve this mystery.” She brought out Ned’s dagger and placed it in the center of the table. “Reason certainly hasn’t told me much about it so far. I want to know where it came from, whom it belongs to, and if it is important.”

  Merwynna looked long into Alexandra’s eyes before nodding in agreement. She passed her hand over the blade and repeated a charm in an ancient tongue. Then she lifted the carved hilt and held it high over her head on the flat of her hands.

  Alexandra watched anxiously. She did not often ask Merwynna to perform her magic—the part of her that wanted the world to make sense did not know how to deal with Merwynna’s strange powers. There were moments when her old friend frightened her profoundly.

  For several minutes there was silence. At last the wisewoman opened her eyes. “I receive nothing. The Goddess is not with me today.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “I am sorry, child.”

  Alexandra tried to hide her disappointment. Was it possible that the broken dagger had no tale to tell?

  As she reached for it to put it away, Merwynna took her hand and turned it palm-up on the table. “What are you doing? You never look into my hand.”

  When her friend didn’t reply, an irresistible desire to know her future seized Alexandra. “What am I fated for?” A question came into her mind, the same one the village girls so frequently asked. “Will I ever marry, Merwynna? When Will was alive, my future was certain, but now I have no idea what to expect.”

  Merwynna abruptly dropped her hand. “It is not wise to know yer destiny.”

  “You prophesy for others. Where’s the harm? Will a beautiful stranger love me to distraction?”

  Merwynna did not smile. “Ye are dear to me. ‘Tis not given to me to see the futures of those who are my friends. ‘Tis the Goddess’s protection against despair.”

  “I cannot imagine there could be much to despair over in my future. I’m only asking about love; that’s not so serious. Come, you must be able to see something. Try.”

  Merwynna was silent for so long that Alexandra’s nerves began to crawl. Was there some reason why her friend would not tell her fortune? Was there a shadow round about her as well? She wasn’t certain whether to be glad or frightened when Merwynna finally nodded. “Very well, I shall attempt it. But, as I say, the power doesna’ seem to be flowing through me today.”

  She took Alexandra’s hands in hers, looking first into the left, then the right. She concentrated on the right palm. She ran her fingertips over the fleshy mounts beneath the roots of the fingers, then traced the lines. “Yer hand is strong. Good deep lines. I see loyalty here, and unswerving love for yer friends. Yer mind and passions are both powerful; at times they will pull ye in opposite directions. At times ye shall not know which to trust. Ye must learn to follow yer heart. Not yer reason and not yer imagination, for yer fancies may lead you wrong, but your true heart—that is what you must listen to.

  “As for lovers, I see four: one who cannot, one who will not, one who dares not, one who dies.”

  The last sentence was uttered in a voice much deeper than Merwynna’s natural one. Alexandra looked up, startled. The witch’s eyes had turned up in their sockets, and she was sinking into a trance. This happened when she was communing with her strange gods. Alexandra had seen it several times before. The powers were present, after all.

  Merwynna’s eyes flew open, and someone—or something—stared directly into Alexandra’s soul. She shuddered. It was not Merwynna looking at her like that. It was a stranger.

  “Snakes,” said a hoarse voice. “Snakes around his neck.”

  “What?” Alexandra whispered. Her heartbeats were echoing in her ears and her hands were trembling. “What do you mean?”

  “Beware,” the Voice said loudly. It was hollow and un-inflected, with no discernible accent. “Water is your element. Trust the water, beware the fire, embrace the earth, but let it go.” There was a slight pause; then the Voice hissed, “Celestial.”

  Alexandra would have laughed had she not been so unnerved. There was nothing celestial about this.

  Merwynna
’s body jerked spasmodically.

  “Whose neck has snakes around it? What sort of snakes?” She asked, wondering if the Voice were truly addressing her. Perhaps it had her confused with someone else.

  The ensuing silence lasted for such a long time that she thought the prophecy was over. She was about to reach out and shake Merwynna, who sat in frozen stillness, when a single word issued from the wisewoman’s mouth. “Ce-les-tine,” it pronounced, with emphasis on the final syllable. Was it correcting itself? Not celestial, but celestine? Was that a name? If so, she knew no such person.

  Merwynna drew a long breath; then more words rushed out, harshly: “You have two enemies. I see blood and steel. I see dark water and death.”

  “You just told me to trust the water,” Alexandra objected.

  “Trust the water,” the Voice agreed. There was a sharp, withdrawing hiss, then Merwynna crumpled on her stool.

  “Christ have mercy.” Crossing herself, she jumped up, ran around the table and put her arms around the small thin woman, massaging the old bones, the stringy muscles. “Merwynna? Please, Merwynna, are you all right?”

  The wisewoman lifted her head. Alexandra pulled her to her feet and helped her over to one of the straw pallets that were always kept ready for the weary or the ill. Gently she rubbed Merwynna’s temples. Her friend’s eyes slowly returned to normal, but they looked away from Alexandra. Sounding extremely weak, she asked, “What did the Voice say?”

  Alexandra repeated the words of the prophecy. “But what does all that mean? It doesn’t make the any sense. ‘One who cannot, one who will not…’ It certainly doesn’t sound as if I’m to have much luck with lovers. What was all that about ‘celestial’ or Celestine? Is that a woman’s name? And who are my two enemies?” She sighed, exasperated. “Merwynna, I don’t understand.”

  “The Voice often speaks thus. The future will make all things plain.”

  Alexandra thought of the various oracles she had read about, and complained, “Why can’t the Voice speak in ordinary language? It’s playing games with me deliberately, because it knows I have no liking for mysteries.”

  The eeriness had lifted and her usual aplomb was returning, although a faint unease remained. She smiled bravely at Merwynna, who had sat up, her back firm and straight once more. “It didn’t even tell me whether or not I shall ever marry.”

  The wisewoman disdained to look into the palm that Alexandra bravely held out again. “Ye shall marry,” she said, gazing out through the cottage’s small front window into the depths of the black lake. “But ye shall not come a maiden to yer bridal bed.”

  More than that Merwynna would not say.

  Chapter 6

  In the afternoon of the same day, Alexandra met Alan in the old schoolroom at Whitcombe to resume their study of Greek. She had seen little of her friend for several days, and she thought he looked dispirited, hunched over a book, leaning his head on the heel of one hand. Nor did he brighten up when he saw her.

  “Well, finally. I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “I didn’t think I was late.”

  “It’s your turn to translate,” he said, giving her the book.

  Alexandra had prepared the passage, but her mind kept wandering to Roger, Francis Lacklin, Merwynna, and Ned. On arriving back at Westmor at noon, she had gone directly to the kitchens to inquire after Ned, but he hadn’t turned up today. “Perhaps he finally believed me when I swore to have him whipped,” said Lady Douglas with obvious satisfaction. Alexandra had left instructions with the servants that she was to be summoned immediately, should the boy appear.

  And then there was Merwynna’s disquieting prophecy. Alexandra would have been delighted with the prospect of not one, but four lovers, but really: “one who cannot, one who will not, one who dares not, one who dies”! She wondered how she could possibly end up deprived of her virginity before her wedding night with four lovers of so little promise.

  She had been translating for five minutes, making numerous mistakes, when Alan interrupted her. “I don’t know where your attention is, but it’s certainly not on Euripides.”

  She pushed the book to him. “You do it.”

  “What’s amiss with you?”

  She was sorely tempted to tell him about Ned’s mysterious little dagger, but decided that too many people knew about it already, through her own carelessness. Glancing up, she saw that Alan was staring at her. She would have to tell him something. “I cannot focus my mind on this. I must be out of practice. We shouldn’t have taken such a long break from our studies, just because Roger was home.”

  “It’s true. We’ve been wasting our time this week.”

  Again she noticed his drawn face. “Why do you say that? Are you having some kind of trouble with Roger?”

  “How did you guess? He seems to be trying to make enemies of everyone. I’d forgotten how he always used to bully me.”

  “Perhaps if you stood up to him a little more—”

  “I have been. Last night, in fact, we had a fight.”

  Alexandra cast an anxious eye over his face, his body. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “You don’t ask if I hurt him.”

  “I don’t care if you hurt him, as long as you’re all right,” she said loyally.

  “Well, nobody got hurt. I wanted to strike him, but I didn’t dare. I was afraid he’d beat the wits out of me. I’m such a coward.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re canny, that’s all. Roger’s an experienced warrior—‘twould be folly to take him on.” She paused a moment then added, “What happened, exactly?”

  Alan’s lips tightened. “I’m only repeating this because you might have to protect yourself. He’s not to be trusted, Alix.”

  She waited. Alan’s expression was a curious mix of embarrassment and anger. “He insulted you. In sooth, he’s lusting after you, now that you’re a woman grown. He’s damned if he’ll ever wed you, but he’d be pleased, he says, to have you in his bed.”

  Alexandra’s senses leapt. She remembered that night in the firelight in the great hall at Whitcombe, and this morn, in the forest when she had found his half-naked body so appealing.

  “He vows he can take you, too. Red hair indicates a passionate nature, or some such nonsense. He even had the temerity to assert that he’s already had a taste of it with you. That was when I jumped up to hit him, the bloody-minded liar! If I weren’t so lily-livered, I’d have done it.”

  For once Alexandra was speechless. He’d “had a taste of it”? She felt the color washing through her face and neck.

  “So you see, I had to warn you. He’s going to try to seduce you. He doesn’t care about your honor. He’s only interested in appeasing his lusts. And he once studied to be a priest.”

  Here Alexandra’s sense of the absurd came to the rescue. She drew a deep breath, grinned, and then laughed delightedly. “Oh, Alan, why do you suppose the Church is so besieged with reformers? It’s full of lecherous priests.”

  “It’s not funny.” Alan was obviously miffed at her reaction.

  “Oh, my dear, I appreciate your defending me. Truly. But I doubt that Roger meant a word of it. He was taunting you.”

  “‘Tis not a subject for taunts. He’s a whoreson bastard.”

  Something in Alan’s tone caught her attention. She tried to see his expression, but he was staring down at his hands. “One who dares not”? No, surely Alan could not be one of the ones Merwynna’s prophecy included. They were like brother and sister.

  “Thank you for taking my part so faithfully.”

  “I don’t think you ought to be alone with him, Alix.”

  “I hardly ever am, but if I should be, I assure you, red hair or no, I’ll defend my honor to the death.”

  She said this cheerfully, but as she spoke, she remembered Merwynna’s words: “Ye shall not come a maiden to yer bridal bed.” Frowning, she opened the Euripides again. “I think I’m exactly in the mood for Medea now.” And, as Alan looked on approvi
ngly, she proceeded to deliver a perfect translation.

  *

  Alan was translating half an hour later when a light tap on the schoolroom door interrupted him. Dorcas Trevor hovered on the threshold.

  “Forgive me for disturbing you.”

  “We were just finishing,” Alexandra said, looking up with a smile. “Come in and join us.”

  But Dorcas remained near the door, her attention scattered. “No, I only wanted to ask you if you have any more of that herbal potion you gave me for Richard’s nerves? It’s nearly finished. He’s been overwrought lately.”

  “Since Roger came home?” Alexandra noted the dark circles around Dorcas’ eyes. She was a small, trim woman, still young; she had been only eighteen when she had married the Baron of Whitcombe. Through the years she and Alexandra had become close friends.

  Dorcas made a face as she nodded. “Damn Roger!”

  Alexandra had never heard Dorcas blaspheme. “You’re angry, aren’t you? You and Alan both—how extraordinary. I would never have dreamed that one man could wreak such havoc.”

  Dorcas came to sit down beside them. The strain in her face was even more obvious from close up. “Richard is much too unwell to be engaging in these arguments with Roger. His heart is not strong. No excitement, the physician said—doesn’t Roger realize this? Is he trying to kill him? They’re at it again in the winter parlor—you’ll hear them if you go out into the gallery. It never stops. They’re like children, the two of them.”

  “They never got on together. The baron used to beat Roger. Horribly sometimes,” Alexandra said.