The Wrong Scapegoat: A Mythic Fantasy Novel (Ravens of the Morrigan)

by Cornelius Flynn

  The smell of her hair pressed up against his face carries with it the scent of the fine linens she wears. Her small arms wrap around him and her hands press into his back as she always did. Her body is shaking. He realises she is sobbing into his shoulder as she once did, when she found a white dove lying dead on their bedroom windowsill.

  “Is it really you?” He inhales deeply. “How can this be?”

  “Of course it is me.” She tilts her head to look up at him. “Who else would be here hugging and crying over thee? Why is thy speech so strange?” She squeezes him tighter.

  He smiles as the memories come flooding back of their time together, their short time together, before she was snatched from him.

  “I don’t understand.” Tears trickled down his cheeks again. “I saw thee die. I said farewell to thee, thou were lost to me forever.”

  “Forever is a very long time, my beloved Cadwallader.” She kisses his neck. “Things change. The gods change them.”

  “The gods?” He asks, gently disengaging from her to see tears that match his own. “What have the gods to do with this?”

  She pinches him on the arm and he yelps.

  “This is real, Cadwallader. We are real. The gods have gifted us a second chance at joy. In this place we cannot die. In this place we can live together, for eternity.”

  “Is this… heaven? I thought it was just stories” He looks around at the beauty.

  “For us it may be so. We may have life together and never grow old.”

  “So I am dead? I am a spirit like thee?”

  She punches him on the ribs and he yelps again. “Does this feel like a spirit which punches thee?” She stamps on his foot, eliciting another yell from him. “How now? Do thou feel like a spirit?”

  He pushes her back laughing and hopping. “I think thou has made thy point, my Beatrice. Please stop hurting me. Thou were always a bully.”

  Now it is her turn to laugh as she grasps his doublet firmly and pulls him close, her lips finding his and kissing him hungrily. He revels in the feeling of it as love washes over him. Nothing else is of any significance on this day.

  They bend their knees and flop onto the ground together in a tight embrace, kissing, stroking hair and faces as they do so.

  Taking deep breaths of the scents of the beloved. Becoming one again.

  “Do we have any better idea how many there might be now?” Filippo asks.

  Wildcat looks at him, rolling her eyes. “You should simply be grateful that we know they’re coming.”

  He laughs. “Fair comment. I suppose we ought to come up with a plan before they get here.”

  “How many of them could you deal with?” Wildcat asks Lightning.

  “I get around ten or twenty normal heartbeats of speed before I have to slow down again. I would have to know where they were first. If they all conveniently lined up along the trail then I suppose I could deal with around ten of them in that time.” She replies.

  “What happens when you run out of speed?”

  “Imagine you have just run twenty-five miles as fast as you could, in full armour, carrying your backpack.” Lightning pauses to allow this idea to work its way into Wildcat’s mind. “That’s what it feels like when it’s used up.”

  “How long does it take you to recover?” Wildcat makes hand signals as she talks, pointing to their right.

  “I have to eat to replenish what was burned away. We’re usually talking hours, not minutes.”

  Filippo squats and thinks for a moment.

  “As I see it, knowing how many and where they come from are most important here. Your friends won’t be hanging around while a large group of strangers march through the forest?”

  “No. I doubt they will, particularly once the fighting starts.” Wildcat peers back along the trail. “Loud noises and sudden movements startle them.”

  “Then all we can do is to try to keep them away from the path Piper took and give him enough time to do the job.”

  “How long do you think he’ll be?” Wildcat asks.

  He shrugs and spreads his arms. “That’s what we don’t know.”

  A long time later they lie, her head on his chest, both of them regarding the beauty of this place.

  “I cannot believe I have thee once again.” He sighs happily.

  “Neither can I, sweet Cadwallader. I thought I would never see thee again and yet here we are — together for ever.”

  “The mad old Druid never told me about this.”

  She props herself up on her elbow and leans across looking into his face. “Which mad old Druid?”

  “The one who sent me in here to collect the sap from the tree.”

  “Why would thou want sap from a tree? Is not that simply a sticky mess?”

  “Oh, my little Queen-Bee. Thou always disliked sticky stuff.” He smiles.

  “Well, it ruins nice dresses, as I am sure thou remember.”

  He grins at the memory.

  “True. It may. This sap, however, is magic and will save the life of Prince Llewellyn.”

  “Who? There is no Prince Llewellyn. I know each heir of the families hereabouts, none of them have a Llewellyn.”

  “Our family has a Llewellyn, now. It’s been centuries since we last saw each other, Bee. Everyone we knew are long dead and gone. New families have taken their places. Thou can come with me and meet them all.”

  “Be not silly, Cadwallader. We may not leave here. This is our home now.”

  “We can’t leave?”

  “Well,” she runs her finger down his nose and touches his lips, “to be more precise — I may not leave this place. I may live here, with thee. This is our only chance at happiness together.”

  “So I will have to take the sap to him alone and then come back to thee?” Cadwallader muses.

  “No, my love.” She looks at him sadly. “That is not how it works. If thou decides to leave here, then I shall cease to exist. I know thou will not do that to me, Cadwallader. Simply forget this silly prince of whom no-one has ever heard, and stay with me. There is a beautiful lake just over there to the west. We could go swimming and boating together.”

  “But, he will die. If I don’t take the sap. They’ll kill him and evil will triumph. Many will suffer.”

  “Evil does not live for ever, my love. Their suffering will be short, compared to the time that we have been apart, will it not?”

  He thinks this over for a moment before replying.

  “I gave my word. I live by my word. How can the gods be so cruel?”

  “I have always loved thee, dear sweet Cadwallader. I have waited so long to be with thee again. I thought I had lost thee for ever and now the gods have brought thee back to me. We can be together forever, should thou choose to do so.”

  “Thou simply must come with me.” He claps her hands. “I can show thee so many lands, so many beautiful places that I have seen over the centuries.”

  “No, Cadwallader. I truly may not leave this place. I have life only as long as I have thee in this place. If thou choose to leave me, we can never be together again. My spirit will return from whence it came and I will mourn thee once more.”

  “I cannot lose thee, yet I cannot break my word. I will not be an oath-breaker. Thou must wait for me here and I shall gather the sap, and then we can discuss this and perhaps these gods will be willing to treat with us.”

  “I do not believe that they will do so, my love.”

  “Wait here for me, I shall travel quickly to the tree and return to thee, whatever may happen. Do not stray from this spot.”

  She looks at him, her eyes downcast.

  “I shall not move, my love, but I do not know if I shall be here when thou return.”

  “I cannot believe that they will take thee from me again after we’ve waited so long to be together.” He hugs her and they kiss. He allows his soul to feel the essence of her.

  Eventually they separate, and he stands, lifting her to her feet also.

  �
��I will gather the sap.” He touches the pouch in which the small bottle resides. “It should not take me more than an hour, and then we’ll be together.”

  She jumps at him wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and pulling herself up to squeeze her head against the side of his.

  “I shall treasure this time we have had, Cadwallader. The gods may be cruel, but I thank them for bringing thee back to me even if thou are to be snatched away once more. Thou has grown to be a fine man, my love, and my heart swells with pride.”

  “I will return for thee, my sweet Bee. Wait for me.”

  She steps back, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “I shall not move. Return here when thou are done, but know that I have loved thee since the day we met and I trust that we will meet again, somehow.”

  He lifts her hands to his mouth and kisses the backs of her knuckles, grinning happily. “I shall run all the way.”

  He sets off at a jog, turning to wave several times as he travels towards the massive tree in the distance.

  She lowers herself to the sweet meadow floor, looking at the flattened grass where they made love together as tears roll down her cheeks.

  “Since we can’t just stand around and wait for them to shoot us, or overpower us with numbers, I suggest we take the fight to them.”

  “So we’re going to have a real fight this time?”

  “We always have a real fight.” Filippo frowns. “What do you mean?”

  She draws one of her daggers and plays with it balancing it on her middle finger, flipping it from end to end.

  “I mean, is anyone going to be telling me not to kill people.”

  A snort bursts forth from him. “Gwen does seem to say that to you a lot, doesn’t she? I wonder why.”

  “I suspect it’s because she doesn’t want a long trail of bodies marking your passage through the town.” Lightning grins. “Maybe she gets tired of tripping over them?”

  “That must be it.” Filippo winks. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. She doesn’t want to get blood on her shoes.”

  Wildcat’s reply is short, and obscene, but she’s laughing.

  “Alright, back to the task in hand.” He picks up his sword, looking along the blade.

  “We kill them all. They’re here to stop us — which means they’re here to kill us.” He sweeps his sword arm around loosening his shoulder. “No one’s going to find the bodies for a very long time. If we let any escape I’m sure they’ll just arrange more attacks, which wouldn’t be good.”

  Wildcat’s face splits into a huge grin.

  “We need to flush them out and hope that they have crossbows rather than longbows.” He grips the sword behind his neck, bending and stretching his back. “If they’re carrying bows we’ll need to use more cover, but if we can draw the initial shots with crossbows, life gets a lot easier.”

  “Perhaps we should challenge them?” Wildcat juggles her daggers.

  “That might work. If we deliberately make ourselves targets, they’ll try a full assault, which is exactly what we need.”

  “Won’t that mean that they can shoot their crossbow straight at us? I’ve got no real objection to the plan, but I also have no desire to be a pincushion.” She catches the knives and tugs at the sleeves of her leather jacket. “I paid good money for this.”

  “How fast do crossbow bolts move when you are travelling at full speed, Lightning?” Filippo asks.

  “No faster than a hedgehog.” Lightning swallows the last of the druid’s cheese.

  “Then, I think we have our plan.”

  He feels fit and is bursting with happiness as he maintains his steady pace all the way to the tree.

  The journey is tough, and he has to climb the cliff face to reach the plateau, but he manages it all with joy in his heart.

  Once there he removes the flask from the pouch, pulling the stopper from the top of the bottle and clambers up one of the huge roots to reach the trunk of the tree. He can see the sticky sap exuding from cracks in the bark. It looks like liquid rubies, and he carefully works the end of the flask into it.

  Satisfied that he has enough of the precious elixir, he scrambles back down to the soft earth below, smiling at the sticky sap on his hands and clothing, remembering his earlier conversation.

  He is almost skipping on his way back to the meadow where Beatrice awaits him.

  Why his love for her was taken from him, or why had he struck such a bargain with the Goddess?

  He’ll keep his word, return the flask to the old Druid, then live here forever with the one he thought he’d lost.

  A light breeze fans his face as he dodges clouds of insects hovering around the bushes at the edge of the meadow. His eyes seek Beatrice but he cannot find her.

  He quickens his pace and sees the two small fruit trees where they lay earlier. He hurries over, looking for traces of her. Perhaps, his playful wife is hiding from him, hoping to surprise him on his return?

  In the flattened area near the bushes he sees a large, shaped stone set into the ground. He frowns. Something seems familiar about it.

  He kneels, sweeping loose grass and leaves from the top to reveal an inscription.

  ‘Beatrice, beloved wife and mother. Taken from us on this day. My heart goes with her.’

  Under the inscription is that fateful date.

  The memories of burying his wife flood back to him. He remembers standing at her graveside, his small children clinging to his hands, unable to respond through his grief. It overwhelmed him, and drove him to hunt the white stag to the Otherland a year later seeking solace, peace, freedom from the anguish — or death.

  He falls forward feeling the full force of that loss.

  “Beatrice. Thou said thou would wait for me. Thou said the gods were not so cruel and yet again I’m alone. I have lost thee once more.”

  “I waited, my love.”

  Turning sharply, he sees her standing to one side, the sunlight shimmering through her slim figure.

  “What…? What is happening, beloved?” He reaches out, his fingers unable to touch her.

  “We can be together, forever, as thou wish. All thou must do is choose to be here, with me.”

  Frowning, he looks up at her face. “How can I do this, sweet Bee?”

  She points to the gravestone.

  “Place the vial of sap on the stone and crush it with thy heel. We shall never be apart again.”

  “Then how shall I take the medicine back for the prince?”

  “Thou shall not.” She gazes at him sadly. “Thou must choose. Thy life with me, or his life in thy world. There is no other way.”

  “How do thou know this? Are thou truly my Beatrice now, or some evil fetch sent to deceive me?” He rises to his feet, studying her.

  “The Goddess told me this. Those were her terms for my time with thee today, beloved.” A tear rolls down her cheek. “I have missed thee for so long. Now, thou must choose.”

  He sees her figure become more transparent.

  “Crush the vial, before it is too late, sweet Cadwallader.” Her arms stretch out towards him. “I love thee, do not let me die again.”

  The small bottle chills his hand, gaining weight, dragging towards the stone. He opens his fist to see it suffused with a green glow.

  Reaching out to Beatrice, his eyes fill with tears.

  “Do not leave me again, Queen-Bee. My heart cannot bear it.”

  “Quickly, crush the bottle upon my grave, beloved. Time grows short.”

  He turns, ready to drop the fragile glass container, but he cannot release it.

  “I cannot condemn another man to death so that we may be happy, heart of my heart. I just can’t do it, even if it means we must part.”

  His voice chokes, tears stream down his face, he tastes them, bitter on his tongue.

  Turning back, he sees her smile as the last of her ethereal form evaporates and her final whisper is carried upon the breeze.

  “I expected no less of thee
, my beloved. Live well…”

  He collapses on top of the stone, beating it with his fists until they bleed before he pushes himself back up and stands to address her once more.

  “I shall return. I’ll fulfil my duty and I shall return to thee. Somehow, I will find my way back here.” His voice rises in volume and pitch to a scream. “Nothing else matters. Nothing.”

  He returns to the portal within the twisted tree, turning one last time to look at what could be their heaven together, his chest heaving and shaking, sobbing uncontrollably.

  He takes that last step into the portal and emerges on the other side.

  The old Druid looks at him, his eyes sad. “You made your choice, Piper?”

  A shimmer of light suffuses Piper’s whole body, and he turns to look at the druid. “Naturally. We have work to do.”

  “Perhaps now you remember why you made your bargain?”

  He recalls how he couldn’t act, how life was meaningless without Beatrice, how he sought his own death, and notices that none of those feelings exist any more.

  “The goddess wanted me to live.”

  The old man nods. “As did Beatrice. The only way you could survive was if she took away your feelings of love, and care, and devotion. That’s what made you who you are now.”

  “I’ve never forgotten her.”

  “I know.” He turns and points at the tunnel. “Come, your friends are embattled and need your assistance.”

  Shock passes across his face. “Oh, by all that’s holy, I’ve been so long! How do they fare?”

  “Only seconds have passed since you entered the tree, my dear Piper. Time there is not like our time at all.”

  “But it seemed so real.” Looking deeply into the old man’s eyes, he grips his arms. “Was it all just a dream?”

  The old man sighs heavily before he replies.

  “No, Prince Cadwallader, it was all very, very real.”

  Filippo and Wildcat step out from behind the trees on the trail that marks their passage.