by M. C. Elam
“Then you do believe dragons exist.”
“This way, child. The cave floor rises here, just as Marcus said it would.”
Resigned that she had the only answer he’d give today, she fell in behind him. Melendarius held pieces of truth she hungered to hear, but how and when he chose to reveal them followed his own particular agenda.
They reached the top of the rise and followed along the edge another fifty or sixty feet before they found the second opening Marcus told them about. If they hadn’t been looking specifically, they might have missed it completely. It spanned a scant two feet high and was perhaps three feet wide.
“I can fit,” said Evan.
“It’ll be black inside, girl.”
“But with you here. I can do it.” She handed him her torch and knelt on hands and knees. She looked inside. Pitch black, Melendarius was right. “I can’t crawl through.” She turned onto her back and began to inch through the opening by scrunching her knees and then pushing her body along. Small pebbles scraped her skin. She’d have some nice scratches no doubt. She wished she had stuck the torch through instead of leaving it with Melendarius. No way to slip it through now, not with her plugging up most of the space, and she didn’t want to squirm out and start over. She knew when her upper body came clear. The air was fresher, and she could raise her arms over her head. Another minute or two and her feet slid through. She sat up and looked back the way she had come.
“I’m clear. Hand me the torch, please.”
He pushed it through as far as he could and used Lunarey to take it the rest of way. Evan held it over her head. The cavern walls were black as night. Jet or obsidian, onyx maybe, she didn’t know. The glassy surface reflected the torch light and her image repeated in the facets of the jagged stone. Why hadn’t Marcus told her?
She walked the outer edge first. Too easy, she thought, and began a more methodic search, wall to wall, over and back across every inch of the cavern. Her heart sank lower with each pass. Marcus had guessed wrong. Glenny must have picked another place to hide her journals. Breathing hard, she sat by the opening to rest a minute before crawling out. Something lumpy poked her and she shifted position. Still there, she moved again and reached to rub her backside. Rough burlap brushed her hand. Her fingers closed around the neck of an old sack half buried in a shallow space close to the wall.
“You didn’t come in any further than you had to, did you Glenny?” Evan propped the torch against the wall, untied the stiff knot that secured the sack and lifted out one Glenny Owein’s journals.
***
Marcus sat in pinched silence. Evan and the old man traipsing off that way with nary a word burned his gizzard right smart.
“I know you’re angry with me. Won’t you even look at the journals?”
“Anything might a happened.”
“But nothing did.”
“Crawling round in the dirt and you glowing with mother’s light.”
“I’ve been dirtier cleaning the inn.”
“No boulder be tumbling down on you here.”
Evan looked at the journal lying open on the table. Glenny wrote with such a precise hand, no flourish of fancy letters like the priest books in the cathedral. She pushed the book across the table.
“Marcus, look. It’s my name. Right here, Ceri Whelan.”
His face relaxed. “Means that much to you, words in a book?”
“Aye, that much.”
“Then, I be glad you found it. But traipsing off without a word?”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t let me go.”
“Right to be fearing that. I’d be making a right smart noise about it. And me planning to be off gathering supplies for the inn. How can I trust to do that, Lady Evan, when the whole time you might be blundering straight into harm’s way?”
“Because I give you my word, I’ll tend to chores and my lessons with Melendarius. I’ve enough to keep me busy right here.” She closed the journal and touched the worn leather cover.
“What about that?” He knew she’d seek the safe place again.
“That, my dear friends, is no longer a problem.” Melendarius plunked Lunarey on the floor and the watery looking ripple behind him vanished.
Marcus rubbed his eyes. “Ack, what’s that?”
“Nothing to bring ill, lad, I assure you.” He strode across the room toward them with more pep than he’d felt in all the long years since the raid.
“How’d you get in here? I be facing the door. Didn’t come that way.” He caught Evan’s amused expression and reckoned some mischief was afoot twixt the two of them.
“Did he see?” asked Evan.
“Aye, he did.” Melendarius sat down. “You witnessed a portal, my friend, a doorway to another place. Pure thought opened the passage. Remember that day in Falmora, the snow storm? I got you back to Granny Stone’s cottage the same way.”
“Aye,” said Marcus. Remember it clear. Milady, this be the old magic Gram told about. Danger in calling such a thing. Forbidden it be.”
“Aye, I know, Marcus, and so we must keep it between the three of us.”
“I still don’t want you traipsing off to that cave again without I be beside you.”
“And as before, that’s no longer a problem.” Melendarius turned to Evan. “Are you up for it, my girl?”
“I am,” she said. “Twice today, I made a portal and held it open.”
“Good. Shall we test your skill?”
Evan stood beside the table in the center of the room. The black pearl lay against her skin just inside her bodice. She lifted it clear and cupped it in both hands then closed her eyes and opened her mind to a vision of the dark cavern. Clearer in her mind than the room in which she now stood, the chamber took shape. The sharper her vision grew, the more the smoky essence buried in the pearl changed. In the first seconds cool, white light streamed through her fingers. She swayed slightly and leaned a hip against the table for balance. The white light turned warm, golden, and spread from her cupped hands, along her arms and over her body until she stood still and quiet encased within the aura. A sharp crack across the room jolted their attention.
“Black as night, that be a hole into hell! Let it go, Lady Evan. Danger in what you’re about.”
“Nay, Marcus, it’s a portal into the cave. Nothing hellish here.” Melendarius picked up the burlap sack of ledgers and moved across the room to the opening. “Come, we’ll stow the ledgers.” He stepped into the darkness and disappeared.
“Follow him Marcus. It tires me some to hold it open, but I swear to you there is no evil.
Marcus took up a candle and approached the portal. Melendarius beckoned to him. It did look like the inside of the cave he remembered from his boyhood. He took a breath and walked toward Melendarius. Evan was the last to step inside before the opening disappeared.
“Why couldn’t you bring her here without all that dirt groveling?” Marcus touched the glassy surface of the stone. He’d seen a mirror or two in his time, but none as shiny at giving back a reflection as the cave stones. Evan looked right pretty in the light, her reflection too, but he avoided getting a look at his mug, even hidden the way it was under a mask.
“Good question, Marcus, and a simple answer. Until now, I’ve never been inside the black rock chamber. It wasn’t in my memory. I could not even bring you here tonight. At least up until now. Evan had to do it because she holds the memories.”
“And now?”
“Now I can as well. I see it from memory.”
“Be like hens and chicks, then,” he said trying to square the way of it into his mind.
Evan hooked her arm through his. “A bit, yes,” she said.
“What, what’s that? What do you mean, Marcus.”
“Well, hen sets on a bunch of eggs and some bit later, out pops a bunch a chicks. The hen come from an egg just like the ones she’s settin’ on. Kinda the same, this. Can’t be going unless you been.”
“Aye, indeed. You’ve got it jus
t right.”
Marcus patted Evan’s small hand. “Do you think, milady, you might make a door back to the inn. Air’s a bit thin for my taste, and I got me a thirst. All this magic stuff be draining.”
***
Marcus was away more than a week buying supplies for the Inn. Took some bartering on his part but along with all the rest, he had managed to secure two good-sized barrels of ale and a keg of brandy. They’d be making their own ale come next season. Until then, well a man needed a draught now and again, didn’t he. He finished off the tankard in front of him.
“I be finding my bed.” He rose to leave, but before he headed upstairs Melendarius stopped him.
“I’d have a private word with you, Marcus, now that Evangeline is asleep.”
Marcus settled back on the wooden bench. “Anything be amiss?”
“Not exactly, my friend.” Melendarius took a long stemmed pipe from a pocket inside his robe, tamped sweet smelling herbs into the bowl, and lit it using the candle on the table. A few puffs set it glowing, and satisfied, he sat back considering the explanation of a certain conundrum. “But a distinct possibility exists that Evangeline may think so. You see, Marcus, Evangeline knows she is Chinera’s child and recognizes that Glenny was her Grandmam.”
“Aye, what trouble be in that?” Marcus leaned across the table toward him.
“How do you know, Marcus?”
“You be knowing it true from the start. Sides that, milady found Glenny’s journals.”
Melendarius drew smoke and set the sweet herbs glowing brighter than ever. His cheeks puffed, and he worked the smoke around a bit before releasing it slowly in little clouds that rose above his head. “Did our dear girl show you the place Glenny inscribed her name?”
“Aye, she did.” Marcus looked confused. The old badger had something worrisome in his craw and be taking his time about getting shed of it.”
“Can you read written words, Marcus?” Melendarius cocked his head sideways. The candlelight caught his profile and cast it against the wall making an enormous silhouette. He turned back, and it disappeared. “Read, man, can you read?”
“Aye, better’n some. Not as good as others. I spect I be fair to it.”
Melendarius laid his pipe on the table and half rose. “What name did you read? What was the name Evangeline showed you?”
“Why, Ceri, Ceri Whelan. I saw it plain as I see you. What be wrong in that?” He tried not to blink, eyeing the old man. Sure if he did, he’d miss some clue and be left wanting.
“Think on it for a moment,” said Melendarius.
Marcus’s brow creased. Puzzles at every turn. What be the use in that? Couldn’t the old boy just come right out with it? Claimed he lived by nature’s way, calling on the Mother the way Gram did, but confusing every utterance instead of telling it out true and simple. “If there be a black nasty around that name, best you tell me now.”
“Black nasty?” Melendarius raised an eyebrow in query.
“It’s what me gram called something not right in a word or act. A black nasty she told, needed cleansing to keep good folks safe from hurt.”
“Aye, then, by Granny Stone’s way of thinking, a black nasty surrounds the name, Ceri Whelan, and I fear I put it there when I set Evangeline on the mountain with Chinera.”
“Not a curse?”
“Nay, not a curse. Think of it more as a misstep in her path.”
“Black nasty be a mean thing sometimes. Other times comes on nobody’s fault. Best you tell me the way of it. Mayhap we mend it.”
“Put simply, Marcus, what way do you see that Evangeline can prove she and Ceri Whelan are the same person?”
“True, that’s all. Lady Evan believes it, and you say it too.”
“But proof, Marcus. Evangeline has no proof.”
“Proof be what one man believes true and can swear to by others.”
“Aye, one man caught in crime can be proved guilty by another swearing as a witness.”
“Then no black nasty’s got a hold on Ceri Whelan. You know the truth of it. You be the one to swear if the need comes.”
“I swear it before you tonight. I witnessed the birth of Ceri Whelan and do know Evangeline, the child found on the mountain by High, Knight Marcus of Ascalla, to be that child, Ceri Whelan, the Lady of Baline by birth.”
“No need swearing by me. I see the truth of it.” His rugged fist gripped Melendarius’s forearm, in reassurance.
“Think that priest might attempt to discredit her claim?”
“Nay, Father Wryth be fond of Lady Evan. By my guess, he’d be happy knowing.”
“Then we’re of one mind.”
***
Clouds hung heavy in the sky over Baline, and all day the wind whipped across the valley from the mountains bringing a bite that smelled of snow. As the first flakes fell and Marcus banked the fire for the night, a sound at the door brought Runt from her pallet. She thumped her tail and pushed her nose under Evan’s hand.
“Visitors, little sister? Let’s see who calls so late.” She started across the common room with Runt close on her heels.
“I be doing that milady. Can’t never tell what’s about in the dark.”
Evan stopped and let him go. Ever since Melendarius sped off with no more explanation than that he must quell a black nasty, Marcus was more obsessed than ever about her safety. He opened the door a crack and then threw it wide. Chinera bounded across the room. Runt made happy little puppy cries, rolled on her back and presented her throat to her mother. Chinera closed her jaws around the tender neck. Runt whined and Chinera gave a mock growl before letting her go. When the first frantic greetings ended, Marcus called her to the door where Rogue stood.
“Just stands there, milady. Won’t step over the threshold. Like he fears me or something.”
Rogue did look wary. Born wild, Evan knew he only tolerated them because of Chinera. Still when she bent on one knee and called him, he inched forward a step at a time and took residence beneath one of the tables away from the fire.
“Where are the pups? You don’t think something’s happened to them do you?”
“Yonder be the pups. Their wee pairs of eyes be glowing like specks a gold in the dark.”
A low throaty howl from Chinera brought them on the run. Whirling and crying greetings to Runt, they began to roughhouse. The fire made the tavern warmer than they experienced in the wild. Their play ended with panting, licking, and much lapping of water from a deep bowl Evan set out for them.
Evan sat on the floor hugging first one and then the other while Chinera watched. Exhausted from the romp, they lay down together and Runt crawled into her old place between them. Chinera lay down with her head in Evan’s lap. Her amber eyes locked on Evan.
“She’s come to tell me goodbye, hasn’t she Marcus.” Her hand caressed the long black-tipped muzzle.
“Aye, milady, I be feeling it too. Mayhap they come for Runt.”
“Runt? Not her too?”
“Wild things got to be free, milady. Whether Runt stays or goes got to be by her wanting.”
The fire burned lower, and Marcus, his head slumped against his chest, emitted monstrous snorts at periodic intervals that jolted him awake enough to adjust his position. A particularly tremendous honk brought him wide-eyed and he scanned the room for Evan. She sat with her legs curled under her skirt to keep warm. Chinera nestled close beside her. At first he thought she had gone to sleep, but her hand caressed Chinera’s ears in the way it always had since first he saw her with the wolf. He rose, put another log on the fire and stirred the embers a bit to raise a flame. He meant to stay awake when he sat down again, but the days toil emptied his resolve, and the next time he opened his eyes, the room was empty.
***
In the purple light of predawn, Evan stood at the edge of the forest with Chinera, Rogue and the pups. The air held the last flakes of the overnight snowfall that covered the ground in a blanket of white. Evan loved the way a pristine snow turned th
e earth clean and beautiful. The pups ran and played across the open ground, churning the powder and breaking the silence with joyous little yips. Nose to the ground and half buried, Runt snatched huge mouthfuls, jumped, and rolled with her brothers in the cold pleasure. The game continued until a low growl from Rogue ended their play, and they sat awaiting the next command. Evan knew he wanted to be off, and when he left Chinera and the pups would go, too. She had dreaded the moment ever since last night, and now it had come. Rogue turned away from the clearing and headed into the forest. Chinera lingered for a moment nuzzling Evan’s open palm. She whined a soft farewell and followed him. One at a time, the pups fell in step. Evan watched until they disappeared among the trees and then started back to Baline. Before she got to the place where flat stones rose from the depths of Pine Water Creek and made for an easy crossing. She heard a soft whine. Alert, she turned toward the sound. A white, wolf pup stepped clear of the shadows. Runt had made her decision.
Soon the sun would rise over the eastern mountains and hide the stars in its brilliance. Too early for full winter, the warmth of the day would make short work of the snow and by noon leave no evidence of wolf tracks. She was just crossing the commons when the first ox-drawn wagon topped the western rise and started down the road. The yoked team plodded through the snow and right out front, his long robe dragging the ground and his staff picking the way, came Melendarius. Evan ran the rest of the way to the inn and threw the door open. It slammed against the wall.
“Marcus, Marcus, where are you?”
He came out of the kitchen a steaming mug in one hand and a thick slice of bread in the other. “Milady, I be here, brewing up a sweet tea is all.”
“Put it down and come look.” She stood in the doorway watching. More wagons came into view over the hilltop. “Look! What do you make of it?”
Marcus scratched his head and stepped outside. “Looks to me, milady, like folks be looking for a place to call home. See there, to the third wagon,” he pointed. “That be Horace Runderly, unless my eyes fail me.”
“And Annabelle’s leading a goat.”
“Got them a passel more than a goat. Looks like Horace caged-up a bunch of chickens and the cows trail behind the wagon. Little cart back there too with all their house wares I’d bet.”