Childe Morgan

by Katherine Kurtz

  He gestured toward the pyre and spat, an eloquent gesture of contempt. Aghast, Kenneth kneed his horse closer to stare down at the man, aware of Trevor half a horse-length behind.

  “And who decided that God’s law had been transgressed?” he demanded. “Tell me! Who?”

  “Th’ priests,” another man sneered. “Who d’ye think? Th’ bishop’s preachers come last week, an’ told us what to look for. They was Deryni, all right,” he said belligerently, jutting his chin in the direction of the stakes.

  For a moment Kenneth merely sat there, numb with shock, trying to fathom the kind of hatred that could have made good men commit such evil. The reference to bishops’ preachers raised strong suspicions about who might have been behind this latest incident of hatred against Deryni—there had long been rumors that Bishop Oliver de Nore’s followers sometimes burned Deryni in the region—but he had never thought to come across an incident firsthand. Being married to a Deryni wife, and one for whom de Nore held a particular hatred, he dared not undertake an immediate investigation of wayward preachers on his own, or challenge their bishop, but he would certainly report this to the king.

  “I cannot accept that a loving God had this in mind for even the most notorious sinners,” he finally said coldly, sweeping them with his hard gaze.

  “The holy Scriptures say that sinners will burn in hell,” a new speaker made bold to say.

  “Perhaps after the Final Judgement!” Kenneth snapped. “But it was not your place to pronounce that judgement, nor to administer punishment.”

  “That isn’t what the priest said!” another voice shouted.

  “What?”

  “We knew what to do,” the first man sneered. “The woman thought she was better’n us, an’ conjured up poisons an’ cast spells on innocent folk, an’ worked her evil magic so her man could get what was nay his! We dealt wi’ him, too.” His sly glance over his shoulder drew Kenneth’s attention to the body hanging from an upper window of a nearby building, and his jaw dropped.

  “And what of the child?” he demanded. “What of the innocent child?”

  “She were a bad seed! An’ how could she be otherwise, with twa sich parents?” one of the women blurted. “Now she canna follow her mam’s evil example.”

  Now well and truly disgusted, Kenneth briefly closed his eyes, schooling himself to forbearance—for he knew how close he was to snapping—that he must not mete out judgement on his own, in the heat of his anger and outrage, without taking more dispassionate counsel.

  “You have done a terrible, wicked thing,” he finally said, his voice low and deadly. “All of you will answer to God for it in the Hereafter, and to the king in this life—for be certain that I shall report to him what I have seen. In the meantime, you will take what is left of those wretched souls and give them decent burial.”

  “Respectfully, we will not, my lord,” said an educated voice he had not heard before, from off to the left.

  Kenneth swiveled in his saddle to search out the new speaker: a tall, gangly individual in a mud-colored monk’s robe, sharp eyes as black as coal.

  “You refuse to do this? You, a cleric? Even the Church does not deny decent burial to Deryni.”

  “These were not decent Deryni,” another man said. “We will not do it.”

  “And if you force them to do it,” said the monk, “they will simply dig up the remains after you have gone, and throw them in the river.”

  Kenneth was not normally a man to admit defeat, but he knew when he was fighting a battle that could not be won, at least for now.

  “Very well,” he said quietly. “It seems I cannot keep you from your folly. But know that the matter does not end here. Look to your souls, people of Hallowdale, for your God certainly shall do so. And your king shall certainly know of this as well.”

  With that, he wheeled his horse around and rode out of that place, Trevor and his escort falling in behind him.

  Chapter 12

  “There is an evil which I have seen under the sun.”

  —ECCLESIASTES 10:5

  THE rest of their journey was much subdued. The men rode tight-jawed and silent, for what they had seen was a flagrant usurpation of the king’s law, whatever personal feelings one might entertain concerning Deryni. For the Lendour men, who served a Deryni lady, the incident hit far too close to home. They gave Hallowdale a wide berth, cutting far to the south, and camped that night in a field, where the reek of burnt flesh did not befoul the air.

  No one had much appetite that night. The men muttered among themselves around their campfires, even the most hardened of them shaken by what they had seen. The women had wept most of the way to the campsite, and many cried themselves to sleep that night. Alaric and Duncan were yet too young to understand what had happened, though Alaric had caught some of the emotions; but both were aware of the distress of the adults around them—so much so, that Alyce put both children to sleep in the arms of their knightly protectors, and that night blurred their memories of the experience. But her own memories she could not blur.

  The next day was better, but something of the shock lingered as they set out again. Kenneth refused to discuss what had happened, and for a while considered taking Alaric back to Rhemuth with him instead of letting Alyce take him on to Arc-en-Ciel.

  “I’m not even certain I should let you go, Alyce,” he told her, the last night before they were to head in opposite directions, she toward the abbey school with Alazais and the other women and he on to Rhemuth. “And I don’t know that I can bear to risk Alaric as well. He is my only son, the son I thought I never should have. If you and he were to meet something like what happened in Hallowdale on the road…”

  She looked away, troubled. “I didn’t tell you, at the time, how very near I came to riding back to join you, after you’d sent the men to take us to safety. But if I had, I honestly do not know what I might have done.”

  They were in the privacy of a tiny room at an inn on the road approaching Rhemuth from the east, and she opened one hand to a brightly glowing ball of greenish light, which hovered just above her palm. She lifted it slightly and watched it flare higher, to a fiercely burning column of fire that cast a greenish glow on both their faces.

  “I was so angry, Kenneth. It would have been so very easy to unleash this on those people—and it would have felt so good, because they surely deserved to die for what they did, and allowed to be done.”

  She sighed deeply and closed her eyes, the column of fire dying down to a mere sphere of handfire that she quickly quenched in a closed fist.

  “That would have been wrong, of course. It would have made me no better than they, except that I would have had more strength, a power they could not hope to understand or endure. Might does not make right. And it would have reinforced what they say about Deryni in the first place: that we have these terrible powers that we long to unleash against innocent humans—though those certainly were not innocent.” She shook her head and lowered her fist, made it relax, open and empty, in her lap. “Do you really think that the king will be able to exact justice for the innocents of Hallowdale?”

  Kenneth shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t know. If the incident was stirred up by itinerant preachers, it would be asking him to take on the religious hierarchy. He did that before for us—for you—and he ended up having to back down. This time—I don’t know. But I’m very glad that you didn’t do what you wanted to do.”

  She sighed. “You’re right—and I suppose I am glad as well. It only would have made matters worse for my people.” She glanced at him sidelong. “I still should like to take Alaric with me to Arc-en-Ciel. It’s only less than a day’s ride outside Rhemuth; we would join you in three days. You can send as many men with us as you like—and we would have Jared’s men as well.”

  “You would only have them on the way to Arc-en-Ciel,” Kenneth pointed out sourly. “You’d still have to return to Rhemuth.”

  “But it’s the major route north,” Alyce coun
tered, “and it’s well traveled at this time of year. I do so want Mother Judiana to meet Alaric. And for Zaizie’s sake, I cannot not go. She would be so disappointed.”

  She paused, then laid a hand gently on his wrist. “Darling, if you truly fear for our safety, that close to Rhemuth, you could send more soldiers to meet us at Arc-en-Ciel and escort us back to you. You could even come yourself, after you’ve reported to the king.”

  He chuckled aloud at that, aware that he was probably over-reacting, and enfolded her in his arms, pressing his lips to her forehead. But in the end, he agreed to let her go.

  He took only Xander with him when they reached the northward road the following day, he to continue south into the city and the women to make their way to Arc-en-Ciel. Alazais wept as she parted from her father, finally understanding the tension under which he and Alyce had lived for all their marriage, and Alyce for most of her life. Alyce rode close beside her, with Llion and Alaric to her other side and Trevor at her back, all of them embedded within the Kierney party. In light of her previous night’s conversation with Kenneth, she found herself worried anew for the safety of her son, and was half surprised that Kenneth had even allowed them to come.

  But the spirits of everyone in the party began to lift as they headed north toward Arc-en-Ciel, skirting along the river, spirits cheered by Sisters Iris Cerys and Iris Jessilde, who were determined that Alazais’ welcome should not be marred. By the time they caught their first glimpse of the abbey walls, they were riding far less fearfully. Alyce, in particular, put on a cheerful face for the benefit of her youngest stepdaughter.

  “It looked very different when my sister and I first came here,” she told Alazais, as the rainbow arch of the abbey’s gatehouse came into sight. “For one thing, it was winter—and we didn’t want to come. Our father had remarried a few weeks before, and our new stepmama did not care for the competition of two nubile stepdaughters. She wasn’t particularly happy that our father already had a son and heir, either, but she was certainly determined to remedy that, if she could. Meanwhile, the two of us were to be packed off to a convent.

  “Fortunately, the sisters and the other students immediately made us feel welcome. It was far more of a home than we would have had at our father’s court, under Rosmerta’s gimlet eye.”

  Alazais smiled for the first time since Hallowdale. “I remember Zoë’s first letters back to Morganhall, after she met you,” she said. “I was only seven or eight, but it was clear, even then, that she’d found a kindred spirit. Who would have dreamed where it would all lead?”

  “Who, indeed?” Alyce agreed.

  The approach to Arc-en-Ciel was much the same as Alyce remembered, other than the time of year. Sisters Iris Cerys and Iris Jessilde and two of Jared’s knights had ridden on ahead half an hour before to alert the inhabitants of their approach. The gate beneath the rainbow arch was thrown wide open, and the sister waiting just inside was Iris Rose, a novice when Alyce first had come to Arc-en-Ciel with her sister. Now she wore the rainbow-edged blue veil of a fully vowed sister, and was fairly jumping up and down with excitement as Iris Cerys joined her from within. Iris Jessilde was nowhere to be seen.

  “Lady Alyce!” Iris Rose cried. “Welcome back to Arc-en-Ciel! Is it true that you have brought us a new student? Oh, enter in Our Lady’s grace!” she added, suddenly remembering the formal words of welcome. “Mother Abbess will be with you shortly.”

  Alyce smiled as she ducked her head to ride through the abbey gate, Alazais following nervously behind her and Llion following with Alaric, at the beckoning gesture of Iris Cerys. The other women also entered, and Sir Walter with Duncan, but when the rest of the men made as if to stay outside, Iris Rose quickly motioned for them to enter as well.

  “Reverend Mother has given her permission,” she told Trevor, who clearly was in charge, at least of Alyce and her son. “We shall have to find overnight accommodation in the village for the men, but Sister Iris Jessilde has told us of the trouble you had on the way here, and has given good report of you. Please, please, enter. Your men may wait in the stable yard while we decide what to do.”

  Alyce, meanwhile, had drawn rein in the center of the courtyard before the chapel doors, where Iris Jessilde was accompanying Mother Iris Judiana down the chapel steps. Llion had dismounted and handed Alaric down to Xander, and came to hand Alyce down as well, going then to assist Alazais from her mount. Alyce took her son’s hand in hers and smoothed back the shock of white-blond hair before slipping her other arm through that of her stepdaughter. She was smiling as she led the pair of them before the abbess.

  “Dearest daughter. Alyce,” said Iris Judiana, opening her arms in welcome. “I see that you have come back to us a mother—and of a lovely boy!” she added, eyeing young Alaric in approval.

  “And of a lovely stepdaughter,” Alyce replied, as she came forward to kiss the abbess’ hand, and then allowed herself to be embraced. “This is Lord Kenneth’s daughter Alazais,” she said, as Alazais gave a graceful curtsy, “and this is our son, Alaric.”

  “Both are very welcome,” Iris Judiana said warmly. She gave Alazais her hand to kiss, then lightly touched a hand to Alaric’s fair head. “Iris Jessilde tells me that Lady Alazais wishes to be enrolled under the rainbow. If she is half the student as you and Lady Zoë, she will be a stunning asset to our student body.”

  Alazais gave another curtsy, blushing faintly.

  “I have also been told of your distressing experience on the road from Cynfyn,” Iris Judiana continued on a more sober note. “I shall wish to hear more of it, of course, but perhaps we should first see to the business that brought you here.” She turned to Iris Cerys and Iris Jessilde. “Will you see to the robing of our newest student, Sisters? And I believe that Iris Rose has set in train the arrangements for overnight accommodation for your men. The other ladies, of course, will lodge here in the guest quarters. Perhaps Alyce will be so good as to present them to me.”

  There ensued a flurry of activity in which Alazais was whisked off to robe, Llion was dispatched to coordinate the arrangements for the men, and Alyce presented the ladies of the party.

  “Mother, these are some of the remarkable women of my husband’s family,” Alyce said as the women made their way to the foot of the chapel steps to kiss the abbess’ hand in turn. “This is my husband’s middle daughter, Geill, and these are his sisters, Delphine Morgan and Lady Claara Winslow, and his first wife’s sister, Lady Nesta McLain, who is also sister to the Duke of Cassan—and all of them are aunts to Alazais. And this is Countess Vera McLain, the wife of Lady Nesta’s nephew Jared, Duke Andrew’s heir—and their son, Duncan. All of them were good enough to travel all the way to Cynfyn for Zoë’s wedding, and to interrupt their journey home to share this special day with Alazais—though I must warn you that young Duncan and my Alaric together can be a handful.”

  “Another handsome boy,” Iris Judiana said with a smile, ruffling Duncan’s hair. “You are, all of you, most welcome—and the gentlemen are welcome to attend the enrollment ceremony as well, if they wish—especially the two knights charged with the supervision of the children. Sir Llion and Sir Walter, is it?” she asked, glancing to Iris Cerys for confirmation. “Yes. I hope you will not be disappointed if our ceremonial seems a little ragged today. We had little time to prepare, as you know.”

  “We have all heard tell of the beauty of Notre Dame d’Arc-en-Ciel, Mother Abbess,” said Lady Nesta, speaking for all of them. “And we are delighted to be present when Kenneth’s dear Alazais is received under the rainbow. I myself studied here, many years ago.”

  “Did you, indeed?” said Mother Judiana. “We must speak of that later, over supper. But for now, we shall gather in the chapel in an hour’s time, after you have been shown to your rooms and given opportunity to freshen yourselves somewhat from your journey.”

  ALYCE soon discovered that presenting a new student was somewhat different from being one, or from being a student and watching others being rec
eived. After briefly repairing to the room assigned for her use—the same one she and Kenneth had shared on their wedding night, four years before, and shared this time with Vera and their respective sons—she left Alaric in Vera’s charge and went to the robing room, where Iris Cerys and Iris Jessilde had finished dressing Alazais in the school habit, the same sky-blue as worn by the sisters, but without the wimple and veil. As when Alyce and Marie had been received under the rainbow, what now seemed so long ago, the sisters had braided Alazais’s flaxen tresses in the single plait worn by all students of the house and set a wreath of flowers on her head: a quickly woven garland of late summer wildflowers rather than the wreath of roses Zoë had worn to her wedding or the dried winter wreaths Alyce and Marie had worn at their own reception.

  “I’m afraid all the roses were too far blown to use,” Iris Cerys said, looking up from the rainbow-woven cincture she was tying at Alazais’s waist. “But the wildflowers are nearly as pretty.”

  Iris Jessilde nodded her agreement as she shook out folds of the blue gown’s long skirt. The undergown worn in summer was of white linen rather than the white wool worn in winter. Alazais brushed her fingertips along the fall of pale blue sleeve and looked up shyly at her stepmother.

  “How do I look?” she murmured.

  “You look beautiful, darling,” Alyce said, coming to give her a gentle hug—carefully, lest she crush the floral wreath.

  Very soon they were following the two sisters along the cloister walk to the side door of the chapel, under its rainbow-painted arch and into the brilliance of the white marble chapel, where its rose windows cast broad swaths of rainbow-colored light across the interior.

  A sweet song of welcome met their arrival—the Salve Regina, as Alyce now knew—its subtle harmonies and a breath of incense and honey-sweet beeswax candles enfolding them in peace as they trod the rainbow-striped carpet runner laid along the center aisle. Beyond the choir lay the high altar, ablaze with votive lights shielded with glass in all the colors of the rainbow. Before it, Mother Iris Judiana sat on a backless stool, flanked by two senior sisters.