Freamhaigh

by Donald D. Allan

  I answered. “She’s fine, Hugh. We’re keeping her under, so she doesn’t move. Her insides are a bit more of a mess.”

  Hugh wiped his nose. I could sense his emotions although he hid them very well. From the outside he looked calm and composed. On the inside he was screaming for her to recover. “She saved my life. Too many times to count. I’d be a right mess or dead if it wasn’t for her. She kept me moving when all I wanted to do was lie down and die. She was in such pain. She had strength for her and me. She’s a wonder.” I felt his emotions surge again.

  “Hugh, look at me,” I asked. When he did, I held his eyes a moment. “She’s fine. Truly.”

  I felt his emotions swell inside him and knew he feared exposing that side of him. I held his tears in check and calmed him. His eyes opened a little wider, and I nodded at him and smiled. I sensed a strong feeling of gratitude and he looked down to compose himself. He then looked over to Brent.

  “I want to reform the SOS, sir. We did great things. Can’t be helped if an island blowing up killed most of my men and women.” Hugh looked at me. “Maybe add a druid or two?

  “Agree, God be praised, Hugh,” said Brent. “I’m so pleased to see you.”

  Edward stepped forward. “We’re giving your fallen men and women top honours, Major Tibert. With full military burials. And see to their families. You have my word. The Realm owes them a great debt.”

  Hugh nodded. Mary stirred and blinked at the bright lights. Hugh called out cheerfully to her. “Good morning, beautiful! How was your night?”

  Part Two: Checkmate

  Twelve

  Crossroads, December 901 A.C.

  VICAR MARTIN JORDAN was thankful to God for one gift: Heather, a healing draoi, was riding with them. She had been keeping his posterior bruise-free for their journey. She removed the pain of tired muscles and the raw skin where his thighs chafed on the saddle. He hated horseback riding. He couldn’t adjust his posture to accommodate the gait and he bounced the entire way. Without Heather he would have abandoned the horse and walked the entire way to the Crossroads.

  Approaching the Crossroads, he had thought he would see signs of the battle of only a couple of months ago, but snow covered the fields and roads hiding all marks. Their retreat had been a blur he could no longer remember in any detail. He remembered the long train of soldiers, some injured and some near death. It had been traumatic for so many. He had reached for his faith and surprisingly he had found it. That which he had seen in Brent now flourished in him. He watched the miracles of the draoi performing healing on the wounded. He watched fascinated as wounds stitched close on their own and pain was erased. He had no doubt that the draoi were the tools of God. Their actions reaffirmed it for him constantly. His love of God knew no bounds.

  For most of the retreat from the battle, he had gone from person to person and spoke of their strength. He helped them understand that their actions had been necessary. He helped with the grief of lost friends. He helped them get past the deeds they had done on the battlefield. Grown men and women soldiers, strong and secure in their abilities, were deeply troubled and broken from within. Women and men alike wept as they revisited in their minds the horrors of fighting. The battle at the Crossroads was over but the soldiers still fought a war in their minds. It was traumatic and stressful. He listened and gave advice when asked for it. He found his path in the Church. It was here with the soldiers that his faith called him to act.

  He remembered moving down the line that terrible day. He held trembling hands as God called them back. He eased their fears where he could. Sadly, he was there to make sure those that died did not die alone.

  Internally Martin struggled with his own demons. He had moved forward to the front line at the Crossroads. He administered last rites to the fallen. He pulled soldiers spurting blood from hacked and gaping wounds. Their cries of pain and anguish still loud in his ears. He remembered the moment when one of the fallen soldiers had opened his eyes and stared up at him. He had fallen back in fear and crabbed away, never tearing his eyes from the monstrosity that rose from the dead. All around him the dead rose and picked up fallen swords and hacked with little skill at the soldiers still living.

  It was the image of Brent racing across the field on horseback that gave him strength. Brent had flown on horseback, standing high in the stirrups, and thrusting forth an amulet that burned bright with the glorious power of God. Martin didn’t demand proof for his faith but seeing God’s power in the open had changed him. God is with us. I will do His bidding without question.

  Martin witnessed the draoi healing the wounded. He watched in awe as wounds closed and colour returned to the faces of those so close to death. It was God’s power again, there for all to see. Martin was certain that the power of the draoi was God’s handiwork. The symbol of the Church and the one of the draoi on Brent’s amulet was the only proof he needed to be certain of the fact.

  The draoi could heal wounds, but it was the Church that healed souls and brought people closer to God. Martin felt that the mind also needed healing. To him the soul and the mind were one. Edward had shown an interest in that. He felt that healing was more than just for the body. They had spent many nights at the farm discussing how the Church could work with the draoi for a brighter future. Will had even shown an interest, enough so that Martin knew that his future lay in working those details down in greater detail. With my new friend, Will Arbor, the Freamhaigh. A friendship I hope will not be unlike that between Benjamin Erwin and Bishop Arnold Bengold.

  Last week, Heather had stopped them on the road. She looked shocked and then relayed what the draoi back at the farm informed her. Baron Windthrop had tried to assassinate Edward Hitchens. He had sent two men to kill him, but thankfully failed in the attempt. She assured them that everyone was fine, and that Will was worried about them and warning them to be careful. James asked about the two men and Heather had gone ashen when she heard the answer. Steve and Franky had hanged them. Martin was shaken at the news. Two men had been executed, and the Baron had committed treason. Their mission to confirm the lineage of Edward Hitchens had suddenly become that much more serious to them.

  Heather had been insulted by the attempt on Edward’s life. She had used words to describe the stupidity of the Baron going up against the draoi in such a fashion. Her words even made Martin look askance.

  For now, they were approaching the Crossroads. The road remained empty of travellers and little chimney smoke rose from the buildings up ahead. James had said that many of the shop and inn keepers had fled and never returned. They did not know what to expect on their arrival and Steve urged caution. Martin suggested they head directly to the Church and ensure their cover was well established. He hoped they would be offered lodgings at the Church as well.

  James looked back at him. “Only a little further, Vicar Martin.”

  Martin tried to stand a little in his stirrups and take his posterior off the saddle. “Thank God. I’m ready to do nothing for a week.”

  Heather laughed, and the bright sound lifted Martin’s spirits a little. “Ah kin heal a' sorts o' ailments, Martin. Bit ah can’t teach ye how tae ride.”

  Martin looked over to Heather and watched how easily she rode. She seemed to float over the saddle. Martin’s teeth jammed together on a bad bounce and he grimaced. “I feel the loss to the world quite acutely.”

  They made their way up the south access road to the Crossroads with Martin taking the lead. Heather rode behind him to the right. James rode to the left and kept a lookout for any trouble. A few shop owners came out to watch them pass, and a couple called for them to come check out their wares.

  Martin smiled and waved at everyone. Up ahead a man walked out into the road and stood with his arms crossed. Martin looked at James.

  “That will be the reeve. Let me do the talking,” said James under his breath.

  They approached the man and halted their horses. James swung off his saddle and walked up to the reeve keeping his hand
s clear for the reeve to see.

  “Morning, reeve. Can you point us to the Church?”

  The reeve looked James up and down. “And who might you lot be?”

  “Simple pilgrims, I assure you. Let me introduce Vicar Paul and his student, Margery. I’m their protection, Bill. We’re heading to Munsten and hoping to stay at the Church for a couple of days. I’m afraid the vicar is a poor rider. He needs to rest and recover.”

  The reeve didn’t look impressed. “So, you won’t be spending coin, or staying in the inns?”

  “I’m afraid not. We will stock up on provisions, but we don’t require much. So not a lot of coin.”

  The reeve looked over at Heather and Martin and studied them a moment. His eyes lingered on Heather longer than they should have and Martin saw her stiffen. Without another word, he walked off the road and back into the small building he had emerged from, banging the door closed behind him. James waited on the road for him to come back out and when nothing happened, he looked back at Martin and shrugged.

  James walked back to his horse and patted her nose while grabbing the reins. He swung up onto his saddle and looked around. What few people were watching turned away and went back inside.

  “Looks like we're clear. Where is this church, Vicar?”

  “Off the north road,” replied Martin.

  “Okay, off we go. Lead on, please.”

  A short while later they found the church. It was off the main road down a simple trail covered with snow. The church was a small building, in need of serious repair. A steeple of sorts rose modestly above with the symbol of the Church at the top. Martin spotted an outhouse out back and thanked God for small mercies. He noted where a few headstones poked out of the snow marking the cemetery. A few skeletal trees struggled for life in the small yard and bushes were placed around the outside of the structure. The chimney looked cold, and the building looked deserted. The entranceway was snowed in and there weren’t any footprints going in or out.

  They halted the horses and watched the building for a moment.

  “Hullo?” called out Martin. “I am Vicar Martin. Is there anyone inside?”

  They waited a moment more and Martin repeated himself.

  “No one there, Martin,” said James. “Let me go in and check.”

  “Or ye cud ask me,” said Heather softly. “There’s na yin inside. Na people.”

  James blinked at Heather. “Right. I forgot. Either way, let me go in first and check things out.”

  Heather glared at James.

  James dismounted and trudged through the snow and up to the entrance door. He grabbed the handle and pulled the door. He had to jerk it hard to pull the door through the snow. He was able to open the door wide enough to squeeze through and he ducked inside the door.

  “That’s really handy, you know,” said Martin. “Being able to sense life around you.”

  "Hmm. Aye. Ah see a' th' life aroond me as clear as day."

  “Could you sense what the reeve wanted?”

  “Nae exactly. He wis excited tae see us. Greed mostly, if I were tae guess. When James tellt him we wur from th' kirk he wis greatly disappointed. That’s all, truly.”

  “Huh.”

  They sat in silence and heard the occasional noise from inside the church from James.

  “Thare ur loads of wee mice living in th' kirk. They're right feart offended at James.”

  Martin said nothing.

  “He's banging aroond in thare lik' a bull. I’m movin` thaim awa' fram him 'n' up tae th' attic thing.”

  “It’s called the belfry.”

  “Ah, the wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beasties, oh, wut a panic's in thy breasties! Hold on, Martin.” Heather dismounted in a way that had her off her horse and halfway to the door in a mere moment. Martin blinked at the image, not sure what he had witnessed. She slipped through the doorway and disappeared inside the church.

  Martin heard her screeching at James. “Hae ye lost yer mynd? Ye'r scaring th' wee mice! Thir's naught 'ere ye bloody eejit. Settle doon 'n' git ootdoors 'n' see tae th' horses. Whit's it wi' ye military types? If ye hud thought fur juist a moment ye would hae asked me tae look aboot. Which I did on th' way up th' path. Thare isnae anybody here, dae ye hear me?”

  It grew silent for a moment.

  Heather’s tone turned incredulous. “Traps? Who places traps in a kirk? Oot. Oot!”

  In a moment, James quickly squeezed out the door. He stopped at the entrance and looked a little wild-eyed at Martin. “I’m, ah, I’m going to find a shovel and clear this step. Can you bring the saddle bags in and offload the pack horse?”

  Martin nodded and smiled at James. “Certainly. Safer out here anyway.”

  James glanced at the door. “You have no idea. Mice. By the Word.”

  By late afternoon James had the horses stabled in town and returned to the Church with some fresh food from one of the taverns. He came through the door and pulled it closed before stomping his boots clear of snow in the entranceway. He carried a large cloth bag under one arm.

  Heather looked at the snow he had tramped in and scowled. “Ye'r tracking in all th' snow. Hae ye any sense at all?”

  James stopped moving and scowled back at her. “I brought food. If you want any, be nicer.”

  Heather strode over and snatched the food bag from James and brought it into the back kitchen. She could be heard slamming the contents down on the counter and banging the pots they had found there. James smirked and went back outside. In a moment, he could be heard shovelling more snow off the walk.

  Martin, sitting at a pew praying, looked around the small church and said nothing. The church seated only about twenty people. A small altar stood at the far end with a pulpit. They had swept and dusted the main room and the back office and kitchen. Heather had opened up the small bedroom and threw the window open to air it out. The stove in the kitchen was lit and was providing enough heat to allow them to remove their outer jackets. Martin could still see his breath, but he was comfortable. Heather said she was keeping them warm, but Martin couldn’t sense it other than he didn’t need to fight the chill.

  This journey is an important one, God, he prayed, with his eyes closed. Please see us safe through this. Thank you for your church, our food, and company. Please let them get along better. They’re driving me insane.

  The church door opened and closed, and in a moment, someone sat beside him on the pew. Martin sat in silence, with his eyes closed in prayer, and then heard the sound of the shovel scraping snow outside. His eyes shot open, and he looked over to see who was sitting next to him.

  A stranger sat beside him, dressed as a deacon. Martin gasped when he recognised him. “Deacon Bowie! It can’t be!” Martin slid down the pew to put space between himself and a man he knew had died twelve years ago.

  Deacon Bowie looked amused. A toothless smile, one Martin had seen many times, stretched across his face and creased his cheeks. He was dressed in summer clothes and didn’t seem to mind the cold. He said nothing and settled back in the pew and clasped his hands on his lap. He looked peaceful.

  Martin stared at the man. This is not possible! He died all those years ago as an old man. Now he looks as I knew him when he still had his youth and health. Martin watched him warily. Distantly, he could hear Heather working in the kitchen and the scrapes of the shovel outside by James.

  “Deacon Bowie? Dahey? Are you real?”

  Deacon Bowie nodded. “Aye, as real as you. Do you doubt your eyes?”

  “I watched you die! You were an old man, now you’re no more than forty. How can this be?”

  “God works in mysterious ways, my son. I see you’ve made good friends. I’ve no doubt their bickering is driving you a bit batty, but they are too like-minded to get along. Give them time, Martin.”

  Martin’s mind worked to decipher the words. Then he understood. “Heather and James. That’s who you mean. They fight all the time now. I’m tired of getting between them. Wait! You heard my praye
r?”

  “Of course. God hears all prayers. Well, when He is listening. Not all prayers make much sense. Take praying for victory on the field of battle, for example. If both sides pray who should win? God doesn’t want anyone fighting. Especially if they are fighting in His name. Why would He want that? His message is about peace and love and yet people use those words to oppress people. Incredible. But people praying for something reasonable? Now those prayers are heard. Selfish prayer? Those prayers never get answered. Praying for someone else? Now that is worth something, don’t you think?”

  Martin was lost in the conversation. Not that he didn’t understand the words. The reality of sitting next to a man long-dead was making him doubt his sanity and he wasn't following what was being said. He didn’t know how to respond. Deacon Bowie didn't seem to mind and appeared to be content sitting there gazing up at the altar.

  After a time, curiosity pulled a question out of him. “Why are you here?”

  “Straight to the point. Good, I like that. I’m here to warn you, Martin. God agrees your mission is important. He wants to see you through it. He wants you to know, you aren’t safe here.”

  “Not safe? How so?”

  “People are coming to harm you. They are under orders by someone who doesn’t want Edward’s lineage revealed.”

  “The Baron?”

  Deacon Bowie nodded. “Be careful. His men will come soon. Be ready.”

  Martin was not surprised to hear the words. He knew the Baron was a craven man with a lust for power. He had already tried to murder Edward. But to murder us? Friends? That is unthinkable.

  “Not so unthinkable. It is a simple problem for him to solve. In his mind, it assures his power. He loves no one but himself. Be careful.”

  Martin blinked and in the process of blinking, Deacon Bowie vanished. Just like Gaea. Martin looked around the church and confirmed he was alone. When he looked back to the bench where the deacon had been sitting he found an amulet, identical to the one Brent wielded. He picked it up and confirmed it carried the symbols of the Church and the draoi.