Swiftly, the Ge-sceaft followed. The lad didn’t have a chance against the dragon that lived in the rocky caverns beneath the grassy headland. It hated that dragon. The iridescent green scales were nearly impenetrable, and the glowing yellow eyes mesmerized, but it knew that the dragon returned its revulsion. The fire-breathing monster relied on its paralyzing gaze to immobilize its enemy, but the Ge-sceaft had eyes that resisted and a voice that beguiled it.
Inside the cave, it waited for its eyes to adjust to the darkness and then padded silently behind the boy. The temptation to call to him was strong, but that would bring the dragon even more swiftly. He fumbled slowly through the cave, stumbling occasionally on the slippery rocks doused by the crashing of the waves against the cliffs. His steps echoed, and rocks tumbled behind him, but the follower was stealthy— silent.
A rumbling sound came from deep within the caverns, startling the boy. He hesitated, glancing around him and looking for the source of the noise. An acrid scent billowed toward them alerting the Ge-sceaft it was time. The dragon would arrive at any second. Silence was no longer an option. It hadn’t reached him in time.
“Turn around and leave.”
Philip whirled and stared, slack-jawed, at the outline of the cloaked Creature. “You— you’re—”
“Go, now. I’ll stop it. Go.”
“What is—” A sound stopped him. He whipped his head back to see and found himself almost face to face with the glowing eyes of a dragon.
Frozen in place, the boy stared at the monstrous beast before him. Mesmerized by the evil, penetrating eyes, Philip found it impossible to think— to move. Swirling the cloak around itself, the Ge-sceaft pushed its way in front of the boy. Without looking away from the dragon, it shoved him toward the cave opening, murmuring under its breath as it did, “Walk away slowly. Backwards. Go.”
This time, he didn’t hesitate. Philip watched fascinated as the Creature pulled back the hood of her cloak. He now realized whatever it was, it was feminine; it sounded like a little girl. Her eyes fixed on the dragon’s head; she began to sing in the eerie voice Philip recognized. Here in the cave it sounded different; the longer she sang, the stronger it grew, until the unearthly tone became sweet and winsome. As he arrived at the mouth of the cave, her words changed. As she crooned the haunting tune, the Creature spoke to him, her words becoming the lyric to the melody.
“Step out-side… aaannd climb the cliiiiii-iif. I’ll beee oouutt sooo-oon…”
He didn’t want to leave her. It seemed cowardly, but then another awkward line told him that if he didn’t go now, she’d let the dragon have him for supper. Philip did not doubt that she would do it too, so without further hesitation, he exited the cave, and scrambled to the crest of the cliff directly above the cave opening. He lay on his belly, head hanging over the side, and repeatedly prayed every prayer he could remember. Her voice grew nearer and nearer until finally, Philip saw the familiar gray cloak at the mouth of the cave.
To his immense surprise, she stood there singing for several seconds before her gloved hands grasped a rock to one side, and she swung herself out from the entrance. Swiftly, she scrambled to the top of the cave, barely missing a burst of fire and an angered roar. At the top of the cliff, she turned her hooded face toward him. “Run, you fool.”
He sprang to his feet, grabbed her hand, and ran through the tall grasses of The Point until he reached a narrow culvert. Releasing her hand, he jumped across. Philip turned to grab her hand again, but she was half-way across the green, sprinting toward the trees. He raced behind her as she bounded through Wynne Holt, across the castle road, until they reached the entrance to Wyrm Forest. Panting heavily, Philip glared at the ‘Ge-sceaft’ beside him. “You’re a girl,” he accused.
“Is that now a crime?”
“But you’re supposed to be— I mean, everyone thinks you’re some kind of monster— that you have horns, and—”
Her giggles stopped him cold. “Do I have a tail and everything?”
“I don’t know. Do you?” He sounded a little sullen.
“I do not.”
Curious, Philip couldn’t help asking, “If you’re just a girl, why must you always wear a cloak? Why the mystery?”
“Bertha says that people would fear me even more if they saw me.” The child’s voice was high-pitched, melodic, but a little too impish for his comfort.
“What is your name?” Philip felt awkward standing so close to the castle road with this odd little girl.
“I don’t have one.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “What does the midwife call you?”
“Nothing, usually. When talking about me, she calls me ‘the little one’ or ge-sceaft and when she talks to me, she just talks.”
“But-” he hesitated. This wasn’t any of his concern; but curiosity won over courtesy. “What if she needs you and can’t see you? What does she call you then?”
The girl shrugged, pulling her hood down even farther over her face. “I can’t remember. Probably child, I guess. I think she’s called me that.”
“Is she your modor?”
The hood shook violently. “She brought me here when my modor died.”
“Can you please take off that hood? It’s like—”
“No!”
The girl spun to flee, but Philip threw his hands in the air, backing away slightly. “Ok, ok. Keep it on; I won’t ask again. Please don’t go.”
At those words, the child whirled to face him. “It was you! The boy who tried to talk to me last month— that was you.”
“Yes. Angus, one of the other boys, he said some things about you—”
“What things?”
Philip didn’t like to say. It would only make her feel bad, and when girls felt bad, they cried. Didn’t they? “Just dumb stuff that ignorant people say when they want to sound important. The minister has always said you were harmless.”
“And you defended me. Why?”
Shrugging, Philip kicked the dirt with his big toe. “I don’t know. It was just so stupid, and you’ve never done anything to any of us.”
“So, you came to meet me?”
“He dared me. Wait’ll he hears you saved me from a real dragon! Everyone thinks the dragons are in the forest.”
“Where their flames would burn the trees? That is just illogical.” Her voice sounded so child-like, but her thoughts were mature.
“How old are you?”
“Bertha thinks I’m around my ninth year. We count my day of birth from three years before she found me.” She eyed him curiously. “How old are you?”
“I was twelve just a month past.”
“You’re the fletcher’s apprentice.”
He nodded, surprised that she was so observant. “How did you know?”
“I watch. I don’t know your name.”
“Philip Ward. My grandfæder was head guardsman of the castle, and my fæder is a seaman of Lord Morgan’s trade ships.”
“Why do people do that?”
“Do what?”
The girl giggled. “Tell their family history with their name. It is like an unwritten law. Whenever Bertha introduces herself, she explains that her modor, sisters, grandmodor, and great grandmodor were all midwives, and that her fæder came up from the south when he was young, so her name is Newcombe. It’s like we must give our pedigree whenever we are introduced, but none of us have one!”
He’d never thought about it that way, but Philip had to admit she made good sense. “Perhaps it is on the chance that you know the family or something?”
The girl shrugged. “Are you hungry? I left my lunch in the clearing, and there’s enough to share…”
The lad knew the invitation was difficult for her. “I— well, are you sure?”
“I asked; didn’t I?”
Philip followed her silently for a few yards and then asked, “Are you afraid of me?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. Why are you inviting me into the
forest alone with you if you fear me?”
She whirled, grabbing the hood and yanking it close to her, as it began fluttering backwards and stared at him. He felt the stare that he could not see, acutely. “Do you intend to hurt me after I saved you from the dragon?”
“Of course not!”
The hood nodded. “That’s what I thought. Now are you coming or not?”
“But if you’re scared…” he continued thoughtfully, as they wandered through a well-worn path through the trees and undergrowth.
“I also like having someone to talk to.” She hesitated. “You wouldn’t bring those awful boys and girls from the village in here, would you?”
“No, not if you didn’t want them to come.”
Before she could reply, the sunbeams burst through the trees where they thinned near the clearing. Philip glanced around him curiously, as they stepped into the grassy patch that grew in the middle of the Wyrm Forest. Only about sixty feet in diameter, the clearing was a natural anomaly.
“Why do no trees grow here? Do you keep them thinned?”
“No.” The girl retrieved her lunch basket from beneath a tree and carried it to the center of the clearing. “Bertha says that it has always been this way.”
“But with all that sunshine, surely the trees would want to grow there.”
The girl shrugged. “Bertha says that it is a quirk of nature given to us by the gods to make us curious.”
This was an awkward revelation. The midwife taught the child about ‘the gods’ rather than the God of heaven and earth. After all his hard work in the village, Broðor Clarke would be deeply disappointed to learn that the child was taught to look to the superstitious gods of nature rather than the Creator of nature.
“Interesting. What gods would those be?”
She shrugged as she tore a small loaf of bread and handed half to him. “Bertha doesn’t name them; she just talks about them. Nature is extremely important to her, so probably the gods of nature, and the stars.”
“My God is the one who created that nature and those stars.” Philip wondered if he pushed too much.
“Which of the gods is that?” The child thought the gods, if they existed, were petty beings— always taking offense over the most ridiculous things.
“The God of gods. He calls Himself, I Am.”
The girl, now curious about Philip and his god, offered the boy some cheese and a flask of water. “And what is your god the god of?”
“All. He spoke and the earth formed. He spoke and the stars twinkled. At His word, birds flew, lions roared, and man breathed.”
“All by a spoken order?” It sounded simplistic, and yet, there was an implied power at mere words calling into being all that is.
“Broðor Clarke says that the Bible begins with, ‘In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.’ After that, it says that He said, ‘Let there be light, and there was light.’”
“And what does this god look like?”
Philip shrugged; his mouth full of cheese. “I never asked. I think maybe, He looks like us somehow.”
“Why do you say that?” A god that looked like her was impossible to fathom. People feared her and others like her; and most assumed they were demons bringing evil in their wake.
“Because the Bible also says we are made in God’s image. If we are in His image, we look like Him… so to see Him, maybe we look at ourselves.”
“But I am a girl; you are a boy. I am terrifying, and you are handsome.”
Philip blushed. Most people wouldn’t call him handsome. Although not repulsive, he couldn’t claim any marked attractiveness. “I don’t know, but I can ask Broðor Clarke. Though, different as men and women are, they’re more similar than different.”
The girl retrieved her flask and took a deep draught. “So, if you ask about I Am’s appearance, will you come back and tell me?”
His head whipped up sharply. The hood of her gray cape dipped lower than ever as she picked at the grass waiting for his answer. “What?”
“Will you come back?” The voice was quieter and more childlike than her previous conversation.
“Oh—” he fumbled. His natural inclination was to use her name, but she had none. “This is much too awkward. I need a name for you.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Of course, I’m coming, back, but I’m also used to using names when I talk to people. You need a name.”
The girl shrugged, her shoulders hardly moving under the ever-present cape. “So pick one. Anything will do.”
“I’m not naming you!” Philip protested vehemently. “That should be something you or someone who is close to you should do. I’m practically a stranger.”
“Well,” she persisted, “I am probably closest to Bertha, and she doesn’t care about a name for me, so if you want one, you have to pick one.”
“Why can’t you pick one? What name do you like?”
Passing him some radishes, the girl shrugged once more. “Because you’re the one who wants one.”
Several minutes passed before Philip smiled and said, “I’ll give you a nickname. You’ll probably be the first person in the history of mankind to have a nickname before you are named.”
She clapped her hands delightedly. The childish reaction reminded Philip of his little sister. “So what is my nickname?” Her voice was eager.
He tried to think of the nicknames that he’d heard for other girls, but they were either derivatives of the girl’s name or unsuitable for some reason. Finally, he glanced at her cloak and nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll call you Dove. Your cloak is the color of a turtledove.”
“And when it is hot, I wear a white one which is also the color of doves.”
“Why?” He didn’t understand the point of the capes in the first place.
“I must stay covered. Bertha has told me what happens to people like me, and to survive, I must stay covered.”
“What is it, Dove?” The name rolled off his tongue, as though he’d called her that for years. “Why must you stay covered? Do you have a harelip? Is your back deformed? You are too articulate to be a simpleton, and you’re too lithe to be crippled.”
“It is none of those things, but, even if you did guess, I wouldn’t tell you. I want you to come back again.”
“I wouldn’t be affected by your appearance.” He paused. That might not be true. How could he make such an assertion? “Or if I were, it wouldn’t keep me from being your friend.”
The protest that welled up inside her died as he corrected his thoughts. He would be horrified by her, that was a given; but even as he spoke she knew, that he would be her friend regardless that few, if any, would consider consorting with such as she. It was comforting. Accustomed as she was to spending most of her time alone, the idea of a friend intrigued her.
Before she could speak, a faint tinkling noise captured her attention. “Bertha wants me. I must go.”
Philip stood and handed her the basket. “When I can come again, how do I find you?”
“Come to Bertha’s cottage. If I’m not there, I could be anywhere; but if you ring the chime, I’ll hear if I’m close enough.”
“Bertha will not mind?”
She laughed. “Bertha will likely not notice, but if she does, she’ll simply warn me not to show myself, which as you know, I have no intention of doing.”
With a slight wave of the little gloved hand, she darted off toward the northwestern side of the clearing. As she reached the first trees, she paused, turned, and waved. Philip stood, hands on his hips, and called out, “Goodbye Dove, and thank you again for rescuing me from the dragon.” He turned and walked away smiling. “She’s a queer girl. Who ever heard of the little girl saving the boy from the monster?”
Chapter 4
Midwives and Minstrels
“Where have you been today?”
Bertha watched curiously, as the girl hung her cape on the peg by the door and put the basket on the shelf above it. Thank
s to the child, the cottage stayed tidy. Her orphan saved the aging midwife many hours of work, and since she was unusually particular about cleanliness, it was mutually beneficial. The child learned and worked, while Bertha rested and taught.
“I went to the cliff and saw a boy go into the caves.”
“Oh?” Without being told, Bertha knew what had happened. “Did he run from you when you saved him from that horrible thing?”
“No. He stayed, and we talked in the clearing. I shared my lunch with him.”
“You didn’t—”
“No.” She smiled remembering the afternoon. “He gave me a nickname.”
“Oh?” This was interesting. Bertha had never named the child. It felt inappropriate.
“He calls me Dove. He says my cloak reminds him of a turtledove, and I told him I wear white in summer. I don’t think he ever noticed that before.”
“Well, it might be good. After all, if he feels indebted to you, perhaps he’ll keep the other children from throwing things at you. Those last bruises took so long to fade.” She glanced at the girl’s clothes. “You should wash those breeches. They’re filthy.”
“I will. Did the baby come safely?” The child, Dove as she thought of herself already, knew Bertha wanted to talk about her afternoon. She always wanted to talk about the births she attended. It seemed to relax her and help her ready for sleep.
“All births should be so easy. Mara was relaxed, and that always seems to make the pain more bearable. I need to find an herb that relaxes the mind without relaxing the muscles.”
The child thought for a moment. “Bertha, when you are tired and need to unwind, you like to talk, but when I need to relax, I go where it is quiet, and no one can bother me. Maybe you need to discover how your modor relaxes, before her time comes, so you can help her.”
The older woman nodded. I think you have a good suggestion. I will try that with the fletcher’s wife. She has told me that she finally is expecting.”
“I wonder how Philip will feel about that.” Dove shook off the curiosity. The baby, she needed to ask about the baby. “So, was the child a boy?”
The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series Page 3