In the Witching Hour

by Неизвестный

  He kicked the basket aside. "No breakfast. Gods, you try my patience. Get dressed, damn you, so we can leave."

  "Great, Weylyn. You know best. I wouldn’t dream of detaining you." She nodded toward the copse of hemlocks. "At least let me...."

  "If you must, but be quick about it."

  "By all means," she said, not even trying to keep the sarcasm from her voice. "Weylyn knows best." She walked away, headed for the copse of hemlocks. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she doubled over, as if she could never stop crying. What has happened to him? she asked yet again. What has changed him? She returned a short while later, wondering if she had only imagined his sharp voice, his brusque, nay, cruel manner. No, of course she hadn’t imagined his spiteful ways. His voice rang in her ears, every word a knife through her heart. She retrieved her dress that lay discarded on the ground, and a rush of memories erupted inside her, of their lovemaking last night and all their nights together, his kisses, his sweet murmurings in her ear. She wanted to weep for all the love they had shared, all gone from her now, like a vanishing mist.

  If he noticed her red face, he said nothing. As she eased her dress past her waist and hips, one question nagged her. "What did you mean when you said that I’d fooled you long enough?"

  "Just what I said." He scowled. "You fooled me into believing that I loved you, and so I married you. Biggest mistake of my life." He nodded in confidence. "But just wait. When we arrive in Lochlann, I’ll turn you over to the druids--"

  "What?" This could not be happening. Not her Weylyn.

  "You heard me. The druids will know what to do with you. They’ll take care of you in their own way. It can’t be soon enough for me."

  She glared at him. "That’s what you think. You don’t own me--"

  "Oh, no? You’re my wife, unfortunately."

  "Your wife with a mind and will of her own. Think twice before you take me to the druids. I’ll tell them you dawdled, wasted time--"

  "A lie!"

  "So? Who’s to doubt me?" She picked up her satchel and threw on her cloak. "But we must return right away, mustn’t we? Never let it be said that I delayed you."

  They continued their journey in silence, Briana suppressing her tears, not only tears of sorrow for her marriage, but of anger toward Weylyn. What had happened to change him from the sweet lover of the past few days, to this stranger, as one bewitched? Bewitched. She ran that word through her mind, unable to find a satisfactory explanation. Something must have happened during his sleep. An evil spirit had entered his mind and turned him against her. She could think of no other reason for his irrational, nay, cruel behavior.

  As the sun trekked across the western sky, they approached the western entrance to the village ... and stopped. "Weylyn, those oaks...." Forgetting her hurt anger, she turned toward her husband. "Saplings when I left...."

  "Now full grown," his jaw dropped and his eyes wide.

  They both stared upward. From each side of the dirt road, the stately oak branches met in the middle, an interlacing filigree above their heads that shut out much of the bright sun.

  A horrible comprehension grabbed her stomach and bridled her words, but she found her voice. "So it’s been--"

  "Years. But how many?"

  Her heart thudded and she felt sick. Her head pounded with a hundred unanswered questions. "Donoria, the fairy country--"

  "Aye. Time is different there. I’d heard that before, but forgot it during our stay and after our return, except for your satchel, my saddlebag."

  She nodded, wanting to cry for the lost years, for.… "Enid! Is she still alive? What has happened to her, to all our friends? Weylyn, I must go see--"

  He grabbed her arm. "Not now. You must come with me, whether you want to or not."

  "Well, I don’t want to." She jerked away. "Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do. I’m my own woman with my own mind."

  "You’ll do as I say." He grabbed her again. "You’ll--" He stopped as the sound of chanting taunted them from the village square. A scream echoed through the air, then another, and another.

  Briana and Weylyn stared at each other with gut-twisting horror.

  Samhain.

  * * * *

  Weylyn blinked his eyes, as if emerging from a daze, a nightmare. A slow understanding nudged his brain, the knowledge that Regan had truly bewitched him. She had applied the glamour, making herself look young again. She had convinced him that he loved her, not his dear wife, Briana. Gods! What a fool he was! How unkind to this woman, his own dear wife, whom he loved and honored above all others. Someday, he must make it all up to her, show her how much he truly loved her. But his natural prudence advised him to postpone his amends for another day. He must remain stern and unrelenting, for a difficult task awaited him. He could not permit any vulnerability to affect his actions.

  He pulled her along. "Come. No time to waste. I’ve a job to do."

  He strode toward the village square, past the shops and businesses, along the dirt roads until he reached the cobblestone street and the village square. The chanting grew louder, the screams deafening. His strides quickened, and he broke into a run, glancing at Briana from the corner of his eye. She followed his pace, her expression mirroring his terror.

  Crowds had gathered in the square, hundreds of people, all chanting. A young girl, bound and helpless, wept at the foot of a druid. A knife glinted in his hand while he bade an enforcer to raise her to her feet. The enforcer stepped forward menacingly. Eight other long-bearded druids stood to the side, looking on in calm detachment. They had seen this same occurrence so many times in the past. The crowds all stood farther back, about an eighth of a mile, Weylyn reckoned.

  "No!" She screamed in terror. She clasped her hands and begged. "No!"

  At the edge of the crowd, Weylyn pushed Briana to the side. "You stay here. Don’t go anywhere." He pushed through the crowd, elbowing the spectators out of the way. He cursed the time it took to break through

  Every nerve, every beat of his heart told him to stop, to let the sacrifice take place. He had no power over the druids. What made him think he could halt the ritual? Yet he must try, even if it cost him his life. Briana, my dear wife, I don’t want to leave you a widow.

  The enforcer jerked the screaming girl to her feet. Why, she’s not even sixteen, Weylyn lamented.

  The druid aimed his knife at her heart--

  "Stop!"

  Weylyn broke through the chanting multitudes. His heart pounded every step of the way. Fool! How in the name of all the gods could he halt the sacrifice? How could he convince the druids that they must end this barbaric ritual? But he must try, must be true to himself. Above all, he must save this innocent child.

  "Stop!" He stood before the druid. "Sacrifice is not the way. There is a better means of protecting the people." He swallowed. "You must not kill this child."

  The druid stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment. The chanting stopped, the people muttering among themselves. The druid’s expression turned to shock, then anger, his face red, his body trembling with fury. The other druids exchanged glances of bewilderment, soon transmuted to rage.

  Still clutching the helpless girl, the enforcer took a step forward, his hand on his sword hilt. "You bastard!"

  The head druid glared at him, his knife at his side. "Who are you to tell me how to conduct the religion?" He looked Weylyn up and down, contempt in his voice and his expression. "This sacrifice is the will of the gods. How dare you interfere with this sacrifice, the most sacred day of the year. The gods will punish you for your interference."

  Weylyn stood his ground, aware the druids had condemned him. They would burn him at the stake. But he would not give up. "I dare because this sacrifice is wrong. Wrong to sacrifice this innocent child to appease the gods. There is another way--"

  "Be quiet, or I shall bring the wrath of the gods on you. A flick of my fingers will make you wish you had never been born!"

  Is he bluffing? Weylyn agonized. From the past
, he knew the druids practiced magic, but how strong was it?

  The druid laughed with derision, the enforcer joining in. The crowd remained silent but restless.

  "So!" The head druid wagged a bony finger at him. "He fears me, fears my powers."

  Weylyn found his voice, a renewed sense of purpose. "The only thing I fear is that this poor girl will suffer at your hand. You think you have power? Show me!" He flinched inwardly, but he would not reveal his fright.

  The druid raised his hand to the sky and flung it down. Sparks flew from his fingers, but nothing else, no bolt of lightning, no fire. But that action alone drew exclamations from the crowd. He tried again, the result the same. Simple sparks, magical in themselves, but nothing harmful. Weylyn watched him, his eyes alert, wondering what more was to come. Folding his arms across his chest, he stifled his fear, resolved to present an image of nonchalance. But every instinct urged him to run, escape, for surely the druid would bring fire down on him, burn him to death. Only a matter of time.

  The druid’s eyes slid from Weylyn to the other druids and enforcers. He raised his voice, addressing the people. "You see what evil exists among us. The demons from the Otherworld have sent this fiend to do their bidding, to turn us from our religion. This is why we must have the sacrifice, to keep the demons at bay, to prevent them from entering our houses." Lifting his arms, he turned in every direction, his long white robe fluttering in the cool breeze, his unruly hair streaming behind him. "This is the reason we must observe this tribute. We must not permit evil to sway us from our beliefs. We must persevere!"

  The enforcer released the girl and stepped forward. Wildly, she looked around and ran. Another enforcer grabbed her. "Oh, no, you don’t. You’re staying right here."

  The first enforcer addressed the druid. "Druid Conan, let my skill determine if we continue with the sacrifice." He drew his sword from the scabbard with a ringing peal. "Let me kill the meddler! What say you, Druid Conan? We all know I am the best swordsman in the village."

  Weylyn glanced from the enforcer to the druid, and saw the myriad of emotions that crossed the holy man’s face--shame because proven powerless, defiance, and finally hope that the enforcer would provide him with a means to escape his predicament.

  "Agreed!" He smiled slyly at Weylyn. "It is agreed, then. If the enforcer wins, the girl dies." He pointed a finger at Weylyn. "And you, too."

  Gods give me strength. Help me. "Agreed. And if I win, the girl goes free and there will be no more sacrifices--ever."

  The enforcer laughed. "Prepare for the Otherworld, pretty boy. I haven’t lost a match in ten years."

  After Weylyn removed his cloak, they separated the required distance. He tried to judge how his opponent would attack, but he had no previous experience with him, nothing to guide him. His opponent equaled him in height and weight, he guessed. But in skill? He didn’t know. They raised their swords to salute the druids, then brought their arms down into guard.

  The enforcer moved forward and lunged quickly without any apparent warning. Weylyn parried, always remembering to keep a firm grip on his weapon. He followed with a riposte, the enforcer following with a parry.

  Ever mindful that fencing is as much deft footwork as skill with the hands and arms, Weylyn kept his feet moving, even while his mind worked, trying to find a pattern in his opponent’s movements. He kept a sure gaze on the enforcer’s body, not allowing himself to fall into the trap of following the weapon. The man was good--very good. Still, his motions seemed almost perfect, too perfect, as if he were stepping through a drill. If he could discover the enforcer’s pattern, he might be able to anticipate the man’s moves. He remained on the defensive, letting the enforcer set the pace, encouraging him to fall into predictable habits. The outcome of the duel taunted him, a constant reminder that he must not lose. Could not lose.

  The enforcer continued his attacks, each time deftly parried by Weylyn. How long the bout had lasted so far, he could only guess. Sweat dampened his clothes and soaked his hair. The enforcer made a hit, a cut on his arm, the blade drawing blood. Weylyn felt the sting, saw the blood flow. Gods! He could not let this happen again. He might not escape with only a scratch another time.

  His opponent sneered. "Might as well give up now. You know you’ve lost."

  "Think again!" Weylyn launched his own attack, but the enforcer swayed back, the sword just grazing his arm. Each time his opponent attacked, Weylyn deflected it. The swords clanked and hissed, the weapons flashing in the bright afternoon sunlight. Enraged, the enforcer aimed a thrust, but Weylyn deflected it again, twisting his sword around his opponent’s.

  Finally, Weylyn saw a pattern. The enforcer stomped his foot twice when he was going to feint an attack, but only once when he intended to follow through. With that advantage, Weylyn launched his own attack. His blade evaded the enforcer’s frantic parry. He stepped away from one of the enforcer’s attacks and smiled. The smile tipped the man’s self-control.

  The enforcer lost his deftness and aimed a brute thrust, but once again Weylyn deflected it.

  Weylyn’s mind worked as his arm and feet moved, and he was now able to anticipate his opponent’s moves. Each time the enforcer lunged with an attack, Weylyn parried, then riposted, always looking for an opening. He launched a false attack low. The enforcer responded by shifting to a low guard, leaving his throat a target.

  Ah! I have him now. But Weylyn could not kill the man.

  The enforcer leered. "What’s the matter, pretty boy? Afraid to kill me?" The enforcer lunged at Weylyn, a movement he had expected. Weylyn shifted his weight back, just enough to let the sword pass by. He grasped the enforcer’s sword with his guard hand and plunged his sword through his opponent’s chest. A startled look captured the opponent’s face as he toppled to the ground. Twitching, he gasped and gurgled, the blood flowing from his throat. He tried to rise, then lay silent and unmoving.

  Weylyn breathed deeply, at first unable to find his voice. He raised his sword high and shouted. "From this day on, there will be no more human sacrifices in Lochlann. Let us pray to the gods that the practice will disappear from the kingdom."

  Wiping his arm across his sweaty forehead, he nodded toward the other enforcer who still clasped the girl. "Release her. She must not suffer for our sakes."

  Frowning, the enforcer looked to the head druid for guidance. Head bowed, the druid nodded and spoke in a rasping voice. "Free her."

  Crying with joy, the girl rushed to Weylyn and knelt at his feet. She clung to his legs and looked up at him, her eyes shining with gratitude.

  He raised the girl to her feet. "Go home now, child, and thank the gods and goddesses for your deliverance."

  "Thank you, oh, thank you." She hugged him, then turned away, looking for her family among the crowds. The spectators were already departing the square, rushing home to lock their doors against the demons, crying in fright. They shoved and pushed, yelling in fear and anger. Who knew what would happen now? With no sacrifice to appease the gods, the demons might knock their doors down, enter their houses and slaughter them.

  Weylyn looked for Briana. He had unfinished business to settle with her, profuse apologies for his cruel behavior and a fresh declaration of his love.

  And then the demons! Even during the duel, the creatures had remained in the forefront of his mind. He must meet them by the circle of stones, show them that his people wanted to make peace. He would fetch a horse from the stable and ride forth to meet them.

  But first, Briana. Where was she?

  * * * *

  Throughout the entire duel, Briana’s gaze never left Weylyn. Even if he no longer loved her, she knew her love for him would last for all time. He was part of her heart and soul and body, a man she could never forget. No one else could take his place. She heard the talk around her, all the murmurings of the crowds. Bits and snatches of sentences reached her ears. She sensed that the people abhorred the sacrifice, but they feared the demons more. Only a few of the older spectators
knew Weylyn, and most of the people cheered his opponent.

  Her eyes continually searched the crowds, her thoughts always on Enid. Surely she would see the dear woman among these people. Her gaze slid to someone who reminded her of Regan Mulhoney, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on--the woman’s stance, her full breasts that thrust against the bodice of her gown, the smirk on her face. But this woman had gray hair and wrinkled skin. The woman turned and met her gaze, and her smirk widened, a look of satisfaction on her face. It was Regan! Gods! How many years had elapsed since she’d left the village? Forty years, at least! Forty years that she and Weylyn had spent in the fairy kingdom.

  Later, she would return to the house where she had grown up, a mission she must undertake for her own peace of mind. Yet she feared her trip would be futile, for in her heart she knew Enid had passed on to the Otherworld. She wept silently for the woman she had loved and lost, for all the years she’d been away.

  In silence, too, she cheered Weylyn whenever he parried or attacked. Her heart thudded the entire time, her head moving back and forth in all directions, following the movement of Weylyn and his opponent. Weylyn, you must defeat him! She clenched her fists so hard her arms ached. This duel must end soon and Weylyn must win. She could not accept any other outcome. Life would have no meaning without him. Nausea churned in her stomach, and she continually swallowed. She heard the oohs and ahs of the crowds, heard them shout their joy whenever his opponent attached. Be quiet! she wanted to tell them. Gods, be with Weylyn this day.

  There! The enforcer plunged to the ground. Was he dead? She waited long minutes and still he languished on the ground. Weylyn, my love, you did it! She bowed her head and pressed her hand to her heart, a tremendous weight lifted from her. She thanked the gods and goddesses for saving his life. Even if he never comes back to me, I shall always love him, she vowed. Looking up, she saw Regan again, the woman’s vicious expression sent her way, the smirk still on her face. What’s that all about? she wondered, but she couldn’t stay here. She had a task to complete. The crowds rushed from the square, pushing each other out of the way, crying in fright.