by Amy Sumida
“Very good, barbarian,” Ayla smiled. “I like that but I still don’t believe it.”
“Why is that, my love?” Rannulf leaned closer and closed her book.
“Satan is a tool used by your church to control the people,” Ayla kissed him on the cheek.
“Maybe he is,” Rannulf agreed. “Maybe he is God’s tool.”
“Why would God need fear to inspire faith?” Ayla had a hard time understanding religions based on fear.
“Without fear of consequence,” Rannulf started thoughtfully. “The world would be in anarchy.”
“Now why would you say that?”
“What would prevent people from becoming evil?” Rannulf looked out over the city, pensive.
“Their humanity, my lord,” Ayla said quietly and pulled his face back to look at her. “If you could only meet my people, my true people, not these Seljuks turned Muslim; you would see such joy for life. My tribe celebrates their existence, delighting in every moment as a gift and looking for the beauty and the magic in all things. Where there is love such as that, only good can come of it.”
“We are taught to love as well,” Rannulf tried to defend his beliefs.
“You are taught, Christian?” Ayla shook her head. “No, love is already inside you, you don't need a book to show you how to find it.”
“Very well,” Rannulf smiled. “We believe in love then.”
“Was it love that made you travel all this way to kill innocent people?” Ayla held up her hand when Rannulf was about to speak. “No, my sweet, don't let the truth anger you, just listen. I'm only asking you to see yourself and your faith with honesty, brutal honesty. Christianity itself has many wise teachings. Unfortunately, those lessons have been lost or tainted by the men who preach it.”
“Ayla,” Rannulf took a deep breath to try and remain calm. “You tread on shaky ground.”
“Does not your God say that you should never kill?” Ayla pressed him.
“Yes,” Rannulf agreed. “But the Pope granted an exception so that we might free Jerusalem in the name of God.”
“Oh, I see,” Ayla said sarcastically. “So your teachers can twist the laws whenever it suits them? God obviously meant thou shall not kill…other Christians. Is that it?”
“The Pope speaks for God,” Rannulf started.
“Why?” Ayla cut him off. “Can God not speak for himself? What makes one man able to define God’s wishes more than another? Should you listen to this Pope or should you trust what is in your heart? You know as well as I, that the knowledge of what is right and wrong is already there, it lives right next to that love I spoke of. It is there that the Divine resides in all of us and no matter what I or anyone else says to you about what you should or should not believe; it is your own inner knowledge that you should heed. Listen to the God in you.”
Ayla laid her hand against his chest and beneath it, Rannulf felt his heart spring to life as if it had just begun to beat for the first time.
He pulled her against his chest and kissed her. He kissed her with all the passion in his body as he tried to let go of the guilt and fear he'd been taught to feel. He wanted what she offered. He wanted to celebrate his life, to enjoy every moment to the fullest and not squander this precious gift.
In that moment he began to change. He felt an incredible love fill him to overflowing, and he rejoiced in its presence. How had she done that? How had she released him from a prison that he'd never even known he was in?
The magical kiss finally ended and he looked down at her with new eyes. She seemed to glow, to radiate a magnificence that he had only lightly sensed before. It was like she'd opened him up to seeing. He looked around him and not only saw the beauty of the garden but felt its life thrumming gently through the air. The world was filled with magic that he could suddenly sense. The trees, the water, even the stones beneath them, pulsed with power. He looked back at Ayla and she smiled perceptively.
“Welcome back to life, my love.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ayla looked down at the silver stag’s head pendant. Behind the head was a pentagram, the blazing star. The stag was his symbol, he wore it on his shield and called it his device. She approved of his choice; it was a strong, swift animal, so she'd incorporated it into the design for her charm.
She'd cleansed and consecrated the amulet to protect Rannulf. Ayla always protected those she loved. She smiled and stroked the shiny pendant gently. A noise at the door alerted her to Rannulf’s entrance and she left her laboratory to greet him.
“There you are, my love,” Rannulf said.
He crossed the room and pulled her close. No matter what happened outside those doors, he always felt better the moment he saw her face.
“I have a gift for you,” she said shyly as she held out the pendant to him.
She had suspended it on a leather cord and it dangled between them, catching the light. He took it from her and held it higher to admire.
“Thank you,” he looked down at her with his heart in his eyes. “A stag, just like my device. You're too good to me.”
He pulled her close and kissed her.
“Behind it is the five-pointed-star,” she whispered as she lifted the pendant. “I've empowered it to protect you. If you care for me, you will wear it always.”
Rannulf lowered his head so she could put the necklace on him. When it rested on his chest he ran a hand over it and looked down at Ayla in wonder. He stroked her cheek gently before pulling her against his chest tightly.
“Care for you?” He choked out. “Don’t you know, Sorceress? I love you as I've never loved before, as I've never thought possible.”
Ayla smiled against his chest, feeling his heart beat not just against her cheek but through her soul.
“I love you too,” she vowed. “You're my life.”
Rannulf beamed in pleasure.
“I have a surprise for you as well,” he said as he finally pulled back
“Oh? What is it?”
“Now that the Seljuk threat has moved on, the roads to Daphne are clear,” Rannulf started and before he finished Ayla was smiling in delight. “Would you like to accompany me?”
The five mile trip from Antioch to Daphne was enjoyable in itself. There were numerous parks, fountains and villas lining its roadway, more than enough to keep the eyes busy. But the pleasure gardens of Daphne, home to the temple of Apollo, were one of the most incredible sights to behold.
Rannulf and Ayla arrived at Daphne with a guard of twenty men, despite Rannulf’s declaration of safety. The men were not strictly on duty but were allowed to enjoy the garden as well, so it did still have the feeling of a pleasure outing. Rannulf escorted Ayla around the beautiful grounds, admiring the structure erected to worship the Sun God.
The temple was massive, with stone pillars holding up immense domed roofs and intricate mosaics covering every floor. The ceiling was covered in shining gold and was almost blinding in its brilliance. There were even courtyards with fountains and statues, bringing the beauty of the gardens inside.
Surrounding the temple, which stood on a mountain plateau, were groves of laurel trees. They grew thick in the cooler air and higher elevation. Among them were numerous streams cutting sparkling paths and providing cool relief to parched travelers. Visitors strolled through the trees, enjoying the beauty and trying to ignore the presence of the soldiers.
“If this place was made for Apollo, why is it called Daphne?” Rannulf asked, as he stopped before a beautiful laurel tree and stroked its smooth bark.
Ayla giggled and pulled his hand away.
“It’s a horrible and beautiful story, and it concerns that very tree,” Ayla smiled and pulled him to a white marble bench nearby.
“The tree?” Rannulf asked and looked back over at it.
“Yes, the tree, and I don’t think Apollo would appreciate your stroking it in such a familiar manner,” Ayla laughed at Rannulf’s confused expression. She patted his hand reassuringly. “Dap
hne was Apollo’s greatest love and these pleasure gardens are named for her. Apollo was a great warrior, like you,” she raised his hand to her lips and kissed it tenderly.
Rannulf smiled and pulled her into his lap, tired of being so far away from her. Ayla laughed in delight and settled herself down, with one arm around his neck. She kissed his cheek for good measure and then continued.
“Apollo came across Cupid one day. Cupid is a Child-God; the son of Venus, the Goddess of Love. He was playing with his bow and arrows, which he uses to pierce the hearts of mortals and fill them with love or, if he desires, the lack of it.”
“I lived with a lack of love for too long,” Rannulf sighed. “I never want to be without it again.”
“It's a wondrous thing, I must admit,” Ayla agreed as she nuzzled into his neck. “But Apollo knew nothing of its glory and he taunted little Cupid about playing with weapons of war. He told the Child-God to leave them to hands worthy of them. So Cupid decided to get even with Apollo, for even the smallest of gods are still gods and are not without power.”
She kissed Rannulf’s neck and wondered what he was thinking of her Pagan tale.
“Cupid pulled two arrows from his sheath, one tipped in gold and very sharp, the other blunt and made of lead.” Ayla smiled and pointed at a statue of a little boy with a strung bow, his arrow poised for release. “He launched the golden arrow of love at Apollo and pierced his warrior’s heart with love for the beautiful, nymph Daphne, daughter of the river God Peneus. But Daphne’s heart, he struck with the arrow of lead, filling her with revulsion for the handsome Apollo.”
“Cupid’s vengeance was better than any a warrior could have devised,” Rannulf smiled in sympathy for the Sun God. “I would rather fight a thousand battles, than love you without a return of your favor.”
He leaned down and kissed Ayla, rejoicing in the love they shared. When the kiss ended, she pushed back from him a little.
“Apollo pursued Daphne,” Ayla looked into Rannulf’s eyes with all seriousness. “He chased her and she ran from him, refusing to listen to his vows of love. The more she ran, the more the God desired her and he quickly began to gain on the nymph. Finally, in panic, she cried out to her father Peneus for aid. She pleaded with him to let the earth swallow her or to change the form that had so excited Apollo. Her father heard her and granted her wish. Her limbs became stiff and bark crept up over her chest. Then her feet took root and shot down into the earth. Peneus turned her into a tree.”
Rannulf gasped and looked back at the laurel.
“Yes, m’lord,” Ayla laughed. “A laurel tree. Apollo cried in misery and hugged her trunk, and even then she tried to pull away from his touch. He vowed that though he could not marry her, he would use her leaves to crown his head, adorn his harp and grace his bow. He also swore that when the Roman Conquerors lead up the triumphal pomp to the capitol, she would be woven into wreaths for their brows. The transformed laurel tree bowed its branches in acceptance.”
“That was beautiful,” Rannulf whispered to her.
“Beautiful and sad,” Ayla said.
“May it be a lesson to you,” he smiled down at her, “to never run from me.”
“I wouldn't have to turn myself into a tree to escape you, my lord,” Ayla teased him but Rannulf’s brow furrowed.
“You will never escape me,” he vowed and squeezed her tightly.
“Rannulf,” Ayla gasped and he lightened his embrace. “Let that be a lesson to you. Hold on too tightly and you will destroy what you desire.”
Rannulf frowned again and looked over at a statue of a beautiful woman he assumed to be Daphne. The nymph’s smile seemed to mock him. He swallowed hard and looked back at Ayla.
“You're right,” he said slowly. “I should free you but I can’t, Ayla. I will never let you go. I cannot bear it. I don’t care what the cost, I will have you always.”
“You tempt the gods with such words,” she chided him, as a shiver went down her spine. “Especially in a place such as this.”
She gasped as a vision came over her suddenly and she fell against him. She saw a warm, dark, safe place and heard a heart beating strong and fast, her child’s heart, Rannulf’s child.
She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her in concern. She was going to be a mother. Why did the knowledge bring her such uncertainty, such distress? She touched his face gently.
Ayla couldn’t bring herself to tell him about the babe. Things had changed incredibly, in the space of a few moments. He'd just sworn that he would never free her. Would her child be born a slave? Or worse, would Rannulf claim it as his own and take it from her, separating mother and child when he tired of her? When it was only her that she was responsible for, it didn’t matter as much. She knew she'd eventually have to leave him, the Goddess Umai had warned her, but Rannulf would never allow her to take his child with her. Would he?
“Ayla?” Rannulf stroked her face. “Are you ill?”
“No,” she assured him. “It was just a passing chill.”
“Do you want to leave me?” Rannulf pressed her and she looked at him sharply, wondering how much he had seen in her eyes.
“Why would you say that?”
“I just told you that I’d never let you go,” Rannulf said. “Then you gasped and fainted. What else should I think?”
“Oh,” Ayla was relieved. “No, sweet, I've no wish to leave you. But will you not at least allow me to walk around the palace? I'm so tired of being caged in that one room and I'd enjoy being able to visit with John more often.”
“Do you promise not to leave the palace walls without me?” Rannulf looked at her solemnly.
“For now, yes,” Ayla agreed.
“For now?” Rannulf raised an eyebrow.
“I keep my word, m’lord, so I will not make a promise of forever unless I'm sure I can keep it,” Ayla smiled at him. “So I promise you, for now.”
“I guess that will do,” Rannulf smiled back. “For now.”
“John?” Ayla knocked on the priest’s door. Presently, the little man’s smiling face appeared in the doorway.
“Ayla,” he greeted her warmly, coming out into the corridor to hug her. “They've freed you?”
“To walk in the palace, yes,” Ayla sighed. “Alas, I’m back to my status of exalted captive. May I come in?”
“Of course,” John said and stood back to hold open the door for her. “Is something amiss?”
Ayla let him lead her to a couch and sat down among the soft cushions.
“I've need of your guidance, my friend.”
“Tell me,” he took her hand reassuringly.
“I’m with child,” Ayla blushed a little.
“Congratulations, my dear,” John hugged her again. “Rannulf must be thrilled.”
“I haven't told him,” Ayla sighed. “That's what I need your guidance on.”
“Well that’s easy,” the priest said. “Tell him at once. The man adores you, he will adore your child as well.”
“He told me today, that I'd never be free,” Ayla whispered. “What will happen to the child of a captive?”
“Surely he will free you, to marry you, once he hears your wonderful news,” John patted her hand.
“No, John,” Ayla said sadly. “He's already told me he can't marry me. The Christian will not marry a witch.” Her words turned bitter and John frowned at her.
“He will change his mind,” he said confidently.
“And if he doesn't?” Ayla pressed.
“Then your child would be born a slave and a bastard,” John said as gently as he could.
Ayla nodded and got up in a daze. John got up and opened the door for her, knowing there was nothing else he could say. She floated past him, touching his cheek in farewell. John smiled sadly and closed the door behind her.
She glided through the corridors blindly. She didn’t care where she went, she just needed to walk. So distracted was she that she didn’t notice the group of men till she was
right in front of them. Their presence surprised her but she tried not to show it. She started to move around them but one grabbed her arm. She pulled back in shock and looked up into the face of an angel.
The man had long, blonde hair and rosy cheeks. He looked all of eighteen. His appearance was so sweet that she didn’t even think to be wary of him. She should have known better and later, she would regret her naivety.
“It’s the witch,” the angel spoke with venom.
The men with him closed in around her. She looked up into their menacing expressions with sudden comprehension. She was in danger.
“Why are you walking around alone?” One of them, a short man with a large nose, questioned her. “You're a prisoner.”
“Lord Rannulf has agreed to allow me the freedom of the palace,” Ayla tried to sound brave. “Ask him yourself.”
She tried to push past them but they stood firm.
“I think you’ve bewitched him,” it was the angel again. “Maybe we should free our brother from your charms.”
The men smiled and murmured their agreement.
Before she knew what was happening, Ayla was lifted off her feet and thrown over the angel’s shoulder. She barely had time to let out a surprised scream. She felt herself being carried down the hall and racked her brain for a way out.
“Where are your powers now, witch,” another man taunted her as the group entered an empty chamber.
She was tossed onto the floor and she looked up, through her hair, at her attackers. If only she could scare them off. That was it! She needed a good, showy spell that would impress but do minor damage. What could she cast quickly? She went through the chants in her head and almost laughed at the simple answer she came up with.
Ayla stood slowly and something in her eyes warned the men. They all took a step back involuntarily. She raised her hands and began the chant she had known since she was a little girl. She was unsure of how well it would work indoors but she had to try. The Wind-God loved to show off and instill fear, so he was the perfect choice. Her voice echoed through the chamber until the stones shook.
