The Frightful Dance (The King of Three Bloods Book 2)

by Russ L. Howard

  “If you will permit me, last night she mentioned to me how much she loved that lone yellow pine towering over there by her tent. Perhaps that should mark her final resting place.”

  Sur Sceaf nodded, “It shall be done.”

  After Herman left, Sur Sceaf called to Ilkchild. “Fetch Hartmut over here right away. He’s watering the mules down by the marsh. Mendaka, would you please inform Pyrsyrus and Elijah. Xelph, you, Yellow Horse, and Redelfis, dig a grave under that large yellow pine that Herman spoke of.”

  “You giving up that easy, are you, Sur Sceaf?” Yellow Horse jested.

  Xelph laughed, but Sur Sceaf shot the jester a disgusted look as if to let him know, this time he overstepped his liberties. “Yellow Horse, please, no jesting today. What we Herewardi and Sharaka might consider amusing, the Quailor would consider blasphemous. They approach death very somberly and there must be no lightness of heart, loud laughter, or jesting.”

  “Forgive me, my lord. Sometimes, I even shock myself.” Yellow Horse blushed. “I guess I just put my shoes on before my pants.”

  By the time the sun was at the tenth point on the medicine wheel, the grave was dug. Hartmut arrived and wove himself through the mourners gathered around the shade of the towering yellow pine, Lila’s special friends had dressed her in her finest black dress with white collar. Her hair was neatly tucked under her tiechl and a gentle look covered her face. As the high priests waited outside the tent to convey her to the open grave, Hartmut and Sur Sceaf stood alone in the dimness of the tent. Hartmut knelt beside the cot where she lay and mourned. “Oh, Lila, thou didst so comfort me when Evangeline, died. How I wish thou couldst have always been with us, but ninety-nine winters is service enough to thy people. Rest in peace, sweet ole Lila. Thou wilt always be remembered.”

  After a moment of silent prayer, Hartmut stood to his feet. Sur Sceaf put his arm around Hartmut’s shoulders in an effort to comfort him and said, “She was a saint, a strong and loving woman, who had the ability to make others smile when they were in her presence.”

  “Surrey, she always had the voice of an angel and I shall so miss her singing. I used to delight in seeing her foot prints in my garden, but, alas, never more.”

  “Hartmut, there are other worlds in which she shall sing, and other gardens in which she shall now tread. Her frame has collapsed, but take comfort that she now takes form in another world.”

  “God, I hope so,” Hartmut said with heart-felt emotion. “Perhaps Evangeline is there to greet her.”

  “We Herewardi believe friends and family are present at our birth and departure from the world of mould and escort us into holier realms.”

  Once Hartmut and Sur Sceaf had exited the tent, the high priests took Lila and wrapped her in blankets with a book of their holy scriptures placed into her folded arms. With great solemnity, they carried her from the tent to the grave site where Elijah offered up a prayer that her soul would be received. The pallbearers laid her on the ropes and lowered her into the grave. As a Quailor choir sang her favorite hymn, four Quailor boys filled in the grave. Once the grey earth was mounded, the Quailor women laid a wreath composed of the hair of all those who loved her on the grave. The Quailor choir sang, ’Goodbye here. Hello there.’

  After the final prayer that completed the ceremony, the Quailor mourners drifted off to their camps. Sur Sceaf then instructed the young bloods to pile rocks up on the grave and named the place Lila’s Rest.

  After bidding farewell to her parents, Lana came over to Sur Sceaf. “She will be so missed. I do not know of any function I was ever at as a child that Lila’s guiding hand wasn’t there to show us the way and impart her great wisdom. Even when I married thee, she counseled me wisely, ignoring her own dogmas in favor of the truth my heart was speaking.”

  “You are so right. She will be greatly missed, but has earned a long rest from all her labors. She was a warrior for right down to the very end.”

  Hartmut walked over and placed his arm on Herman’s shoulder and wept. “Herman, I thank thee for thy kindness towards Lila and will stand by thee shouldst thou ever be in need.”

  The big man was wrapped in grief. “They buried her beneath the mighty lone pine, facing her home in Salem.”

  And the giant wept.

  * * *

  On the day following Lila Stobie’s funeral, the mourning period Sur Sceaf had designated drew to an end. He took his usual evening assessment of the camps. The fyrds were going through their usual exercises with sword-play and stave fighting and the camps were all clustered tightly in a large circle. He had had a brief discussion with Fromer to test the mood of the Quailor. Even Fromer was pleased that the other camps did not intrude on the Quailor mourning period. After visiting briefly with White Fire, Sur Sceaf went over to the drover’s camp where he found Margot, the head of the Hickoryan drovers, discussing with the trail cooks which cattle needed to be culled for eating. After a brief visit with Mendaka and his dog soldiers, he ended his tour at Pyrsyrus’ camp where Lana and her family were supping with Pyrsyrus and his wives. Friedrich, Sur Sceaf’s father-in-law placed a muscular hand on Sur Sceaf’s shoulder and said with a smile, “I am glad thou art my son-in-law.”

  * * *

  Long Swan’s Log: The fifth day of the Holy Moonth, the time of Barleysel and harvest, in the year of 583 H.S.O. It is the day of the Grand Jury hearing here at Witan Jewell. Rabbi Amschel has been chosen as the judge to hear all the evidence and has now been called upon to make a decision to determine if there is enough evidence of a promiscuous relationship between Sur Sceaf and Gal Fawkes to warrant a trial.

  Virtually, the entire populace of Hrusburg and the surrounding villages have gathered to witness the outcome. Sur Sceaf’s wife Paloma, is also present.

  The Herewardi, having used the system of consulting the seers for their readings and judgments on such matters, have not heretofore been adjudged under the newly enacted Rule of Law. Now that they are to be living under the same umbrella with the other tribes, it is wisdom in the Council of Three Tribes to institute the Rule of Law and for a man to be tried based upon evidence by a jury of peers.

  The pre-trial hearing was held at the steps of the Shepherd Hall and began at one hour before high noon under the aegis of King Sur Spear, who has also submitted to the prescriptions of the new law. In his opening speech, Rabbi Amschel declared that this was to be a fact-finding period and that anyone with information or evidence pertaining to the case must submit it before the last full moon of summer.

  * * *

  As Paloma listened to Rabbi Amschel ben Levi standing on the stairs to make his pronouncement on the case of Gal Fawkes vs. Sur Sceaf, she ran her hands over her arms as if to smooth ruffled feathers. Although she knew this procedure was necessary to clear Sur Sceaf’s name, the very idea of Sur Sceaf’s good name being sullied in this manner was abhorrent to her and her bride-sisters. Never in the thirty-three years of her life had she been so damned angry.

  The Rabbi stood tall and lean in his long black gabardine coat, black hat, and peyos hanging from the temples of his head. He was well known throughout Herewardi Lands as a dignified man and charismatic teacher. To those who knew him, he had a much respected penchant for wise answers and good counsel.

  “Citizens of the Herewardi Realm, I was called to be a Judge of the charge brought against Lord Prince Sur Sceaf. This is a very serious matter and no man should be held above the law. Remember, it is permissible for interested parties to watch, but not to participate in examining the witnesses. Those who violate this dictum will be removed from the premises.”

  As Paloma listened, Milkchild turned to her and whispered, “Paloma, I know my father. He is a man of the law and he weighs matters very precisely. He has always made his decisions based on the law and they have always proven to be fair and just.”

  “Based on law, Milkchild,” Paloma repeated in a barely audible tone. “I know that the outlanders use this system of the Rule of Law. Meaning that no person or
officer is above the law, and that no person may act arbitrarily or unilaterally outside the written and published law, but I have read how wordsmiths can weave the laws to make them say that which they were not meant to say? No, Milkchild, I am not prepared for this system of the Rule of Law where men of wealth and cunning seem to be the only ones who can afford justice. It does not appeal to the Herewardi mind. Not even from your father, who is but a man, wise though he may be. Redith has scryed. That should have put all this foolishness to rest. I think our system is far more accurate. The all-seeing eye of the Ur Fyr can find out any truth. I would much rather have this matter solved by the stones than a man boxed in by man made rules subject to various interpretations.”

  Paloma returned her attention to the Rabbi who was posting the request for more evidence on the public kiosk. At that, a great murmur went up from the crowd. Paloma sensed that most people believed that Gal Fawkes had some ulterior motive for bringing this damning accusation and everyone knew Hoth to be no more than a muckraker.

  Paloma had thought much on it, and had concluded it might not have anything to do with Sur Sceaf’s misbehavior at all, but more likely had some financial motive behind it. Swan Hilde also believed this and thought, perhaps, this woman wanted to force Sur Sceaf’s hand in marriage.

  At the moment Gal Fawkes sat sobbing in a chair on the landing and Clotilde appeared to be comforting her, so unlike the well-known selfish nature of Sur Spear’s satellite wife.

  I smell a vixen, thought Paloma.

  Paloma turned to Faechild standing to her left and whispered, “If he rules against Sur Sceaf, I shall hate the day we took up this Rule of Law. My trust is rather in our ancient customs, which have served our people so well for nigh six hundred years. I know our husband believes that we must change to accommodate the outlanders, but I much prefer our ways to theirs.”

  Elka and Flamma, two wives of Sur Spear, slipped through the throng to join Sur Sceaf’s bride-covey. After Paloma greeted them, Flamma leaned in and whispered, “We know there is a dark hand in this matter, and we all know just whom it belongs to. We’ve been praying that the truth will surface soon. May the Ur Fyr rest on the Rabbi.”

  Paloma was touched by their confidence in Sur Sceaf’s innocence. “Thank you for your support, lady sisters. If under this so called Rule of Law, Sur Sceaf is not declared without fault, the very stones will break forth and proclaim his innocence. Then may the heavens cleave and Tyranus smash his accusers with a bolt of his lightning. Of course I know that won’t happen, so I am here to throw my own bolts.”

  “What kind of system is it that judges their own high lord?” Elka said. “It can’t be right.”

  Swan Hilde standing behind Paloma, leaned forth to whisper, “It is a system made for outlanders. It works for them because none of them have seers in their midst. More than likely, because they killed them all off for sorcery. Called them witches or warlocks. It’s the best they can come up with. We better be getting used to it, but I swear, I’ll gut that hussy if she doesn’t recant her lies.”

  “Enough,” an eaves-dropping Rogue Nations woman scoffed, “You Herewardi dominate every aspect of our lives. It’s about time we get some justice for other peoples. It’s the way we are used to having it dealt out and not through some heathen medium or soothsayer.”

  Swan Hilde said, “You irate illiterate, if it weren’t for us heathen you would this day be under the lash of a Pitter whip in a labor camp and learn the meaning of being gang raped by subhuman hell-rats.”

  Paloma took Swan Hilde by the arm. “Let it go sister. They cannot understand.”

  With Paloma and Swan Hilde in the lead, the bride-covey moved away from the ignorant woman only to bump into Hrusilde, the sister of Clotilde, whispering up a storm with three other middle-aged Herewardi women.

  Hrusilde said, “Oh, Paloma, this must be so difficult for you to bear,” without bothering to lower her voice. A smug look covered her chubby face. “Of course, we’ve often heard tales of how lusty Sur Sceaf is. I mean there are even rumors coming out of the mountains that he’s thinking of taking another Sharaka maiden for a wife. Why, I’ve even heard she’s barely entered puberty.”

  Paloma guided her bride-covey up to the fyrd sentinels who kept the pressing crowds back, choosing to ignore Hrusilde and her ilk entirely.

  She was at the point of exploding, when one of Sur Spear’s younger wives, the lovely Lady Haw Swan, came up to her and touched her arm. “Lady sisters, fret not, we know your husband is above reproach. He will come out of this shining brighter than ever. You need have no concern about that.” The words of comfort helped Paloma to refocus.

  The crowd was still buzzing. Clearly annoyed, the Rabbi held up his arms for quiet. The sun sent a shaft of light through the towering oaks like a spotlight on the Rabbi. In that moment Paloma saw a vision of a tall and powerful raven looking directly at her. For a moment she was sure she caught a glint of Godly intelligence shining from those piercing amber eyes.

  As soon as the Rabbi began to speak, the vision dissolved. “I have wrestled with the evidence and weighed it very carefully. I sent out fliers and messengers into Charly’s Harbor and the lands there about, requesting that any witness with evidence should meet here at the entrance of the Shepherd Hall, before the said date of the hearing and deliver whatever evidence they had on the case into my hands, and, so far, no one has come forth with any evidence to contradict the claims of Gal Fawkes.”

  Once again the audience was set to murmuring. Paloma’s bride-sisters included.

  “This is nuts. This can’t be,” Shining Moon declared in her melodious Sharaka accent.

  Paloma felt a sickness descend over her. They expected her to have a remedy, but she had none. She had been captured in this box of law and could not see her way clear of it. Neither her royal birth nor her honored position in the Council of Women had any influence to bear. She had no experience in the law. All she knew was that her man could not do what he was being accused of. Some how everything had just gotten twisted.

  The Rabbi stretched forth his arms for attention once again and the people slowly quieted down. “Let me say that this woman, Gal Fawkes, has no stain upon her past and although she is not Herewardi, she is a devout member of her own Papist Faith. The fact is, she has an unaccounted for pregnancy, and both Clotilde and Melyngoch have given their oath that they did see Sur Sceaf ride into their lodge with her riding behind him on the same horse, and that the said Sur Sceaf did treat the aforesaid woman with much tenderness and attention. Furthermore, she states he is the father of the child. I therefore find there is enough evidence to have a trial by jury.”

  Most of the audience roared their disapproval. Paloma felt to throw up and Milkchild and Faechild braced her as their entire Covey wept.

  The Rabbi held up his arms again for attention. “Please, please this in no way presumes guilt, but it is the way the Rule of Law is to work. Nor does it mean that this matter cannot be worked out in a more favorable manner.”

  * * *

  Sur Sceaf woke up breathing in the delicious fragrance of Lana’s naturally crimped hair. He had been sleeping with his face buried in its seductive silkiness. Still drowsy, he squeezed her warm body to him tightly, savoring her touch and reluctant to rise into the cool morning air. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. As she woke, he said, “It’s time I get things stirring.”

  After kissing her again, he slipped free and threw off the furs and covering. He rose up in only his loin cloth

  She protested, “Oh, don’t leave me, my love. It feels so good lying here beside thee with our naked skin against the fur.”

  “My dear, there is nothing I’d rather do than stay in your arms all day, but duty calls. I’ve got to get the wagon trains up and moving. Since we lost two days we must do our best to make up the time.”

  “Not before thou hast a good breakfast,” Lana declared firmly, throwing off the covers and getting to her feet.

  “Alright, but
you must make it quickly.” As he reached for his breeches, he noticed a spectacular silken weaving on a portable loom. “What a beautiful tapestry of swans. It appears to be nearly finished. It was so dim in here last night that I failed to see the beauty of the aubergine and the contrast of the white in the swans and magnolia. Have Pyrsyrus’ wives taught you to weave with silk?”

  She laughed as she slipped into her smock. “Thou knowest flax and wool are the only fiber I work with. This is Swan Ray’s weaving. She claimeth when she finisheth it, her grief over the death of Ilker will have an end. For she claimeth she will either weave him back home, or weave him dead.”

  “The poor thing. I wish she were able to pass through her grief. I think it’s because she was Ilker’s youngest wife. Perhaps if they had not been newly wed, she could have born a child to give her some solace and comfort. Even though it did little for Pam-El-Ea. What great hope she must have had for a life with him.

  “But who can know where the Angel of Death will strike next or whom the Dark Elves may catch in their nets. That is why we should embrace every moment while it’s here. Their love must have truly been something wonderful.”

  Lana paused to wrap her hair in a twist and ran a pick through it. “Surrey, I can only think I would never be able to get over thy loss either. So, please don’t ever die on me.”

  Sur Sceaf knew she meant every word.

  “I wish that were a promise I could make,” he said, buttoning his shirt. “I have seen the face of death. It is no more than a breath away.”

  Lana wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and prepared to leave the tent. “But I still wish thou wouldst promise,” Lana said. “Poor Swan Ray, every time Ilkchild passed our wagon yesterday, she wept. She kept saying, ‘He looks too much like Ilker.’ Even though it pains her, she cannot keep her eyes off of him.”

  “It is good you tell me this.” Sur Sceaf declared, as he slipped on his boots. “I’ll apprise Ilkchild that he may avoid being near her whenever possible. No sense in compounding the poor girl’s grief.”