Morgund’s memory of how sick he felt mired his feet to the floor.
“Now, Dog, have sup of my good will, or will I summon another poison for thee. I will you hold you down and you be made drink it. Morgund step forward, and get it over and done with. Take thine medicine like a good dog.”
Morgund gulped it down. It was like swallowing bricks.
“Now be off and be thee anchored to the privy for thee has been the victim of a bitch, as thou will be forever, until thee dies. A Satan’s blessing to you Morgund, son of an Earl. I have it my mind to use thee even worse, have my man servants ride thee, till thou is hollowed out like a gutted pig. Out of my sight, dog.”
Morgund immediately felt the bile rise to his throat and hardly made it outside the room before his mouth filled with vomit.
The sound of her voice followed him through the door. “Take thy vile self off. Pray for death.”
Morgund fell to his knees gasping for breath. Pain wracked his entire body.
“I will have thee bark like a dog from now on.” He heard her call from her room.
Morgund lay in his own vomit unable to move.
Inside the grand witch’s room, Mirium fretted worriedly. “Madam do this more and you will ruin his constitution. He could die.”
“I will kill him.”
“My Lady is he not a man who deserves some human kindness.” Mirium begged.
“No! He is a block of wood for chopping and I like to chop.”
“Would Seward not miss his companion?”
“I have decided he is more to my liking without this companion, I feel he holds back my total domination of Seward.”
Hearing this from outside the door, Morgund knew then he would die.
The ancient crone emitted a guffaw. “I have plans for him. None good will come to him. Next time I’ll bend him over and shove an enormous phallic rod up him. The flesh will rip asunder. Truly then, he can ask me for kindness.”
The cruelty of it forced Mirium to act. She rushed to Morgund, but he was beyond listening. Mirium fled down the corridor. She must act quickly, her mistress would hold her to account and prevent any help she could give Morgund. She went to Seward.
When she found Seward alone, she told him, “It is untrue, the man in the pot, it was a trick to bind you to influence your mind. Some potions were used additionally to achieve the effect. It was done to humble you and deceive you and to make you a slave.”
“You’re lying,” Seward replied.
“No I am not.”
Grabbing Seward and gripping her hands onto his shoulders, she related the story, of the cup Morgund had dunk, of that which he thought was poison, and the grand witch laughing with the cook over the lacings in Morgund’s food. How sick Morgund was now.
“Morgund can expect no mercy from the grand witch. “She will kill him.”
“She is a cruel demon.”
“Double so, for she has spoken of ripping him asunder with a blunt object cast into his behind in an act of perversion.”
“Where is Morgund?” Seward realised he was so under the grand witch’s spell that he had forgotten to think of Morgund.
Mirium could not go to Morgund lest it draw the wrath of the witch queen. So she bid Seward on. Seward found Morgund was confined to his cot, too sick to move lying in his own foulness. Seward saw to his care, washed him and had him drink water.
Making Morgund as comfortable as possible he departed to find Mirium. Finally he caught her alone. In a corridor. Seward spoke quietly. “This witch has the power over us.”
“She has no power at all. She has us believe by fictions.” I can prove it to you.”
“Do so.”
“I shall. Meet me tomorrow morning before first light, near the stone wall. If you value your freedom and possess any small light of awakeness in you, you will come.”
TO THE FOREST
THE NEXT MORNING before dawn, Seward forced himself to think about the impending day. He still didn’t know if he would have to courage to do as Mirium sought. If he was gone for a time and the grand witch found out about it, his life was forfeit, and Morgund’s, and the girl’s. A storm sounded overhead. Rain provided less chance of being discovered with fewer people outdoors. There was the slight warmth of early spring, despite the wet. Before long, Mirium stood before him. By now having been broken to following instructions automatically, he followed her without emotion to another large manor house. Once there, hiding behind a piece of shrubbery whilst she entered the house. Shortly thereafter reappearing, Mirium. With her was the very same man he had seen in the pot, alive and well who, cutting some larger blocks of wood into smaller and stacked her cart. She brought it with her wheeling it back the way they came. As she passed Seward she nodded to him, beckoning that he follow.
Mirium led Seward by the arm as she said, “See, her tales of what happened to the man in the pot nothing but lies.”
Seward looked intently into her eyes. “We must escape with Morgund. She will try to stop us from leaving. We must think this through.”
“No, time is short.”
“To act hastily might be our deaths,” Seward said.
Mirium replied. “If the grand witch finds out what I have done she will kill me. I am afraid! I am frightened, what if she has already discovered our absence? She will do something dreadful to Morgund. I am so scared of her. She will cut me entire. We must run.”
A very determined Seward: “We will go back to the house, collect Morgund and be away before she realises what has happened.”
Meanwhile, Morgund felt dispirited in the extreme, drained of energy, without emotion. He had a deep seated fear that ticked away, washing over him, eating him away like a cancer. He imagined his death, and how meaningless it would be. Life had no meaning. Nothing had meaning. He would fade away in a whisper, all that he had worked for and aspired to, not to be. Even if he stood his ground and defied her, only with words, at least he gave worth to himself. Today was dreadful but there was always tomorrow. What could he expect but more of the same, or worse.
Weighing up how things stood caused no joy. And he pondered the unfairness of life, that he was here at all. What had he done to deserve his present condition, many others were worse then was he, and yet he was as cast down as far as almost as anyone could be whilst others went about normal lives.
An hour later, Morgund dreamt himself torturously trapped in a narrow tunnel without a way to extricate himself. Imagining reversing, but knew going back would only end in a deep sided pit where he could not escape. Perhaps forward there was light and life and freedom, so he pushed with his knees and elbows, into the darkness.
Each push along the tunnel in inky blackness meant exhaustion and pain. He stopped exhausted and cried and cried, but that did nothing to alter anything. He compelled himself to continue whilst there was life left in him for staying put would only end one way, a solitary agonising death.
Thirst, would come first and his throat roared to tell him so. So he moved forward. The tunnel ended with a light ahead, illuminating a pit and a ladder that led up. He opened his eyes. Awake, he felt sweat all over his body and his heart beat rapidly. He wondered if the dream was a sign that there was a way out.
Morgund detected a difference within himself. His mind was clear. He had not felt like that since first arriving. The witch thought she had him beaten. But by being cruel to him she had given him a great gift. Despite his shaking hands his head felt clearer than it had for weeks, the drugs she had used on him had left his body renewed through his constant vomiting and flux. Feeling weak but triumphant. He would stand up to her. He had told himself this earlier yet stood before her totally under her command. Morgund had been under the influence of her drugs then. But not now. He knew clarity of mind. None of the substances she was accustomed to drugging him with were left inside him.
Thankfully the grand witch let Morgund be, this morning, and no others came to disturb him. He could rest, regain some strength. Seward had le
ft him some oat bread and milk which he ate. He would maintain the demeanour and expression of someone, beaten, uselessness. Whilst she was under this impression and her guard down, he would make use of it to his advantage.
He did not know how but he would take her into death, but a chance would come, when and if his moment came to do something other than be subject to her will, he would cast her down. She was old, he would just advance upon her and kill her. Her terrifying, hypnotic eyes, would not protect her this time.
There was nothing stopping Seward and himself walking away. Just then he thought of Mirium and it gave him pause. Perhaps escape would not be so easy. Thinking of her made his stomach queasy. The door opened. Had she read his thoughts and come again, to do him an injury? He was relieved to see Seward and Mirium.
“Morgund get up, we are leaving,” Seward said.
“Where to?” Morgund replied.
“Anywhere, anywhere at all,” Seward said.
Morgund looked around anxiously. “We never shall escape.”
Seward stood defiant. “These powers of hers are not so great. They are largely a falsehood. The oarsman still lives, I saw him. He was alive in the pot, the muck was offal. It was all done as an act to affect us. To fool us so she could have control of us. Rise up Morgund.”
“She will catch us.” Morgund felt sick. “We can but try.” Morgund, drawing upon a reserve of defiance. “Waiting here is nothing but waiting for death.”
They would need some provisions and went inside to find them.
An eerie whistle vibrated through the house, Morgund imagined that the witch queen knew what was happening, her spies could be watching from the shadows. “Hurry, let us go,” Morgund stated.
A wind somehow not of this earth shook the house. “Mirium, she awakens.” Morgund said to Mirium.
“I heard that wind too Morgund. She may soon wake and think to send for us.” Mirium looked frightened.
“Think of the pipes Morgund. That will calm you, hearten you.” Seward said.
Morgund came to a decision. “We are going to Scotland. Noting, can stop us.”
“We must have provisions,” Mirium commented.
Seward acknowledged with a tilt of his head. “We will get them and go.”
Raiding the kitchen they put food in a sack. Now, to upstairs to get warm clothing. Quickly and silently they obtained whatever scraps of warm apparel they could from Seward’s room. So provisioned, the trio headed down the hallway, its creaking boards protesting underfoot. It was as if the house itself had turned upon them. They neared the doorway that led to the Grand Witch’s quarters. The glow from a fire within cast the shadow of one of those contemptible handmaidens who stood inside the open door. Whatever ministrations she was acting out were now done. Seward motioned for the others to back into a darkened corner of the hall, for not only was a figure leaving the room, but she was turning towards them. Morgund felt hatred rise up.
He had suffered the humiliations and depravity of the coven, for how long his drug-ruined mind could not say, and Seward had suffered. They remained in the pitchy darkness, the handmaiden merely feet away. She appeared to be no older than Mirium, and was bare save for an iron amulet shaped like a snake eating its own tail. The girl paused, staring into the darkness where they hid, the faint light catching suspicion in her eyes. The shadows failed to conceal them completely, and before the girl could scream Morgund reached out and clamped a hand around her mouth, twisting her so he bore her in an inescapable hold. There was a muffled gasp, a brief struggle and a suppressed but distinct crack. The girl twitched, like a young deer shot by an arrow, and Morgund let the body slip silently to the floor. Shaking, Morgund motioned them forward again.
There was stirring from the crone’s room, so they hurried. Nobody had challenged them when they reached the rear door and drenching rain. They must get beyond London. There was a yelling behind them. Whether they had eventually been detected, or somebody had stumbled across the body of the girl they did not know, for all their efforts focused upon escaping. They never looked back.
Morgund felt born again. The rains intensity increased as they found shelter under an overhanging roof. The rain hit over the top of them, like waves at sea, like waterfalls descending, angels curls aglow, this liquid loveliness touched a deep chord within Morgund and he felt like walking on in the rain forever, thereby being swept clean by a thousand brush strokes. Perhaps the rain could wash away this taint. Thunder rumbled, cobblestones sparkled; he noticed them clearly for the first time. Shadowy moistness, and a distant cold grey sky.
A charging spilling of musical tones, heavier, lighter, suddenly turning into a pelting clamour drowning out all else, diminishing, until heard again with fury, a point on the ground, jiggling like water boiling in a pot.
Finally Morgund spoke to the young woman beside him. “You’ve given me back my life, how can I thank you? By showing Seward the oarsman lived, it broke her spell.”
To never leave me, she thought. That was what she wanted, but she knew his wish was not so, remaining silent therefore. The partial control she had over herself slipping. Her emotions overwhelming, she ran, unable to speak. A future without Morgund was too desolate to bear. She ran, not knowing if her heart would break from physical exertion or from sheer suffering. Remembering trying to convince the grand witch to leave Morgund alone. Her courage had failed. The memory of it wracked her conscience.
Morgund caught her. “What is wrong?”
“You will leave me. Yes? When we are away to safety, outside London.”
A look of confusion from Morgund.
“Yes.”
A slight acknowledgement.
“But I love you Morgund.”
He held her close, it was only out of pity, she thought, but this embrace felt good nonetheless. She treasured it, longed that it would never end.
His eyes told her much. “You only feel sorry for me.”
He didn’t answer but pulled her closer. She was partly correct; in his heart compassion but not possessed of this alone, there was something more, a withered spark given life by the joy he felt at being free, by the need for him she displayed, he revelled in her love, thought that he had been a fool not to notice her for what she was - his friend.
She owned a piece of his heart and always would. He held a belief that things would turn out well for her. It was important to him now that they did. She must be safe, it was his responsibility. There was a ripple in his heart, but not yet did it overcome his reason.
“Take me with you,” she asked. “Wherever you go.”
“I will not leave you behind.” Hugging her, thinking to disperse her anguish but not really meaning it. He could not take her into the highlands of Scotland, to war.
“Thank you.” She tried to be happy, but read in his eyes that it was not his design to take her.
Morgund nodded. Tears burned her eyes, they were mirrored in his own. He realised then that he too was in love with her, and that was why he cried - because he loved her.
A hopeful look. “Do you love me?”
“Yes,” he replied, surprised at himself and how the words, spoken aloud, made him feel.
Lips met, passionately. He cradle her by the small of her back, Mirium, relishing the closeness and sense of security imparted therein. Her lips parted from his and she breathed into his ear her voice quavering with a mixture of emotion. “Morgund, I am to have your child.” He did not answer. “I will bear a baby if all is well with me and child. Is it well that I do?”
Returning to Scotland, settling the score with Alexander seemed to have moved far from him. He was both buoyant and disturbed at the same time. Did he want this child? He was not sure, but he would protect it and nurture it with whatever ability he possessed.
Seeing his concerned look, she asked, “It was just that it happened.”
“It happens,” he replied, “like that I mean, often, unplanned.”
“What do you mean?” Mirium’s voice expresse
d her hurt. “Is it not well?”
Too much had happened too quickly. This child was of his making, his mind clumsy floundering. He had spoke thoughtlessly, now, even more so. “How does it concern me?” Her face whitened at his comment. Holding her in his arms, he said, “Don’t mind me. You are mine and I want to marry you I adore you. Our babe, I look forward to us having it. He patted her stomach, softly, gently, using his fingers in long strokes. “It is lucky indeed to have the protection, of ourselves.”
Time prevented him from showing the full depth of his feelings. He would, when they had gotten far away into the countryside beyond London. Seward was with them and he hadn’t spoken for a full ten minutes. Seward could wait. He looked at her again, savouring the thought of being with her for a long time. Their tongues collided again as love’s fire rekindled.
Seward ventured, “Now we wait until the rain stops, then we rob someone and steal a horse.”
“Only one horse?” asked Mirium.
“It will be easier to waylay one man. We can obtain another later.” Seward replied.
“The first thing we do on leaving her house is commit a wrong on another?” Mirium said.
“Fortune’s wheel must turn. We be atop, presently, but to hesitate, is to risk the fall to the bottom. She! May have horseman out to find us,” Seward said.
“I won’t steal a horse, Morgund. It is wrong.” Mirium said this to nettle him, and she tried not to smile, so as not let him know she jested. Then her mind took in the seriousness of it all. “But I can’t walk to Scotland. I am with child and such a difficult journey might badly affect my babe.” She was proud of her child and wanted Seward informed.
“What?” Seward’s mouth dropped.
“I am pregnant,” she repeated.
“I thought you said that. God be good.”
“Were you not listening earlier Seward?” Morgund said.
“I walked off and gave you privacy,” Seward replied.
“I did not notice,” Morgund said.
“I know, my friend, you were otherwise preoccupied.”
Celtic Blood Page 18
