by M. C. Elam
So close, he thought. All of the nights he lay awake thinking of home, longing for the arms of his pretty bride, one soul-burning desire had kept him alive, a desire that if not owed to him, then at least shared by hundreds of others. Just a few more steps and the moment was his. He inched between two men masquerading as Owlmen and saw the Lady of Baline flanked by those brave souls who rose to take away Peter Brenan’s insidious power. Close enough that he could smell the rot of Brenan’s diseased body; Preston Fugate extracted a glistening object from inside his shirt, curled an arm around Peter Brenan’s head, and grasped his chin. With the other hand he snapped open the straight raiser.
His voice a breathy whisper close to Peter’s ear made his intent clear. “Honed sharp, Majesty. The way you like it.” He drew the blade with perfect expertise across the throat of the man he despised. The slash, clean and deep, gave Brenan the look of a man with two mouths, one a gape-jawed hole, drawn open in utter surprise; the other a thin curved slit that appeared to smile at the world through bloody lips.
Brenan sank to the ground. He had time to clutch his throat in the seconds before death took him and wonder how it had all gone so terribly wrong. The black pearl with which he had taunted Evangeline fell to the earth. It came to rest between Preston Fugate's feet. Preston stooped to retrieve it.
“My lady, I believe this belongs to you.”
38 - Loose Ends
Hawk sought Evangeline as soon as he could break away from the others, but Marcus told him she had gone home to Baline soon after Preston Fugate cut Brenan’s throat.
“Sorry I be, Majesty. She told me as how the anger boiled in her, and home ground be the one place she knew could calm such fire.”
“She didn't speak of me? His handsome face bore a mask of disappointment.
“Nay, Klea be the last what spoke to her. Come running up just as she be ready to go.”
“Klea, what did he want with her?”
“Long tale, Majesty. Be a tavern maid down to Chandler’s by the name of Minerva. Klea come begging Lady Evan to see she could heal her.”
“And Evan went along with him?”
“Aye, when it be done, she cast a portal straight home to Baline.”
“I don't understand, Marcus. Why would she leave without seeing me?”
“Majesty, that little miss be like my own girl. Lots you don't know and only she got the right to tell you. Spect you'll find your path when the time comes.”
When he tried questioning Marcus further, the big knight was no more forthcoming than a mute.
In the months that followed, council meetings filled Hawk’s days. So many decisions had to be addressed; the dispensation of wealth among Lawrenzian citizens; how to implement a system of honest rule, and who would lead the realm. Devon Runderly and Clay Willis proved invaluable when they freed the people held in the slave pens. Clay had kept meticulous records of those imprisoned and Devon suggested expert ways of seeing that any who wanted to go home had the means to get there. The most arduous task was forming a new government capable of managing affairs in a realm as large as Lawrenzia. More knowledgeable in such matters, Griffin and Robert toiled many weeks over the task, with Hawk weighing in when he could
“Brennan left no blood heir that we can find.” Griffin toyed with a gold coin, turning it through his fingers.
“Aye, true. I questioned his council minister about that. He swears that when Brenan’s father died, he was the last of his line. A straight enough fellow, Calion said Brenan was desperate for an heir.” Hawk tipped a wine carafe and filled his goblet.
“Makes sense then, him forcing my niece the way he did.”
“Rob, if we heed the rights of secession, your niece is Queen and her child the heir.” Hawk brightened. Was this the solution they sought? Put Ellyanna Merrill on the thrown and the citizenry would have a gentle monarch.
“Elly might refuse.” Rob bit his bottom lip, considering. “The way Christopher talks, she hates the place. As for her child, Christopher has no clue what happened to him. It’s possible Brenan had him slain when she and Christopher escaped.”
Hawk arched an eyebrow. “If he was so desperate for an heir, that doesn’t make sense. There is something more here; I just can’t see clearly enough to name it. The only information I gleaned came from Devon Runderly?”
“Oh?” Rob perked up a bit. “What did he tell you?”
“Runderly said he cast a servant woman and the baby into the pig barn.”
“Bastard, if that’s true, then the baby’s most likely dead.”
Griffin nodded. “In lieu of that, my best recommendation is to help Rob draft a missive with all of the facts for Ellyanna. If she agrees, she has Christopher at her side to help her. If not,” Griffin shrugged, “we are no worse off than when we first considered the idea. I’m truly sorry such savagery befell Lady Ellyanna, but I, for one, hope to turn for home before the changing season forces us to pass another winter here.”
“Aye, Griffin lost a son in the battle. His wife grieves alone. I vote we draft the missive.” Hawk offered his hand on it.
***
When the answer came, they breathed a collective sigh of relief. Ellyanna had agreed. None of them chose to hazard a guess about how much was for the people of Lawrenzia and how much was to please her mother and new husband, Christopher Tyndall, Truth be known, Christopher, had convinced her she deserved it for the long days she suffered under Brenan’s thumb.
Once established Queen Ellyanna decided that creating a Council of Knights to sit as lawmakers for the realm made the most sense. True, such a governing council was different from the leadership in any surrounding realms. Naming Christopher as Prince Consort gave his voice in policy making credence, and he wasted no time in organizing council matters. With him at the head, the council’s first act called for the division of Lawrenzia into a series of districts. The citizens living in each district selected two people to speak on their behalf.
“She has a better head for this than I would have given her credit for. Perhaps we should look more to our women when it comes to politics.” Rob told them just before he left for Glynmora.
***
Light snow and a blustery wind whistled through the canyons shaking pine trees until they sang of the coming winter. More than two years had passed since he had committed his sword and, as it turned out, the life of his son to Brenan’s defeat. Selene’s only child, gone to Shadall in a heartbeat, he should have been beside her when his son’s body embarked upon its final journey. Griffin shook his head. No sense sending his thoughts there. Shadall would frown at such a pointless exercise, Selene, too, for that matter. One end of a woolen muffler worked loose from his leather jerkin, the errant end whipping against his face. The fur robe that covered his shoulders did little to dissuade the biting cold. Not winter? Tell that to the frost devil taking we nips anywhere they found bare skin.
He saw Melendarius waiting for him at the top of the Arch. The old man stirred a kettle that hung from a tripod over a small fire. As he approached, the wind died and the temperature warmed. Griffin pushed the fur robe from his shoulders and slipped the muffler into a saddle bag.
“Ah lad, you’ve come at last. I’d warrant a bowl of fish stew might quiet the rumblings in that empty stomach.”
Fish stew, Griffin hadn’t had so much as a whiff of it since he left Shadall. The smell made his mouth water. He had lost weight over the course of the campaign and more when Terill died. Tonight, though, the tantalizing aroma sang just the right melody.
“Aye, I’d warrant it’s as good as I remember from my boyhood days.” He swung a leg over his horse’s head and slid to the ground.
“Take the saddle from that big brute. I’d reckon he craves a full belly as well. You’ll find a feed bag of oats behind me.” Melendarius swung his head indicating the place.
“Finished the last I brought a day ago, and the trail is barren of all but a bit of scrub grass that fights through cracks in the stone.” He
lifted the bag and secured it around the horses head.
“Come,” said Melendarius. “ Stew’s ready and I’ve brought a loaf baked fresh in the Baline inn last eve.”
Griffin accepted the hot bowl of stew from the old man, broke a chunk from the loaf and looked around for a place to sit. “Last eve? But Baline is several days ride from the Arch.”
“Aye, lad, quite right, but I traveled by portal.”
“Ah, yes, portal.” A second mouthful of stew cut short his speech. Warm at last, he sat cross-legged near the fire.
Melendarius filled his own bowl, and knees cracking like so much dry kindling, he found a place beside Griffin. “A pity age disintegrates a body bit by bloody bit,” he grumbled. “But then I cannot complain of ill health. The Mother eases my aches with the sweet salves of the earth.”
They sat a while in silence until the stew disappeared, and the loaf grew ever smaller. Melendarius drew a long necked pipe form inside his robe and tamped a bit of tobacco into the bowl. “Infirnata.” The command set the tobacco glowing and a swirl of smoke rose from the bowl.
“Such things amaze me,” Griffin told him, watching the trail of smoke.
“And me as well.”
“You? But you brought it forth.”
The corners of the old man’s mouth flexed in a smile. “Nay lad, while I’d like to lay claim to it, the Mother made it happen through me. Her hand guides all that we do, even my reason for choosing to meet you here, miles from Baline.”
Griffin shifted his position so that he faced Melendarius. “Why did you meet me here?”
“I sensed your eagerness to see Evangeline.”
“It is not often those of us whose spirits soar through time find each other. Both Ian and I recognized Evangeline as the spirit sister we knew in the stars. I am eager for the chance to greet her.”
“Mhmm, Mhmm,” Melendarius nodded. “I suppose, Griffin, I am interfering. The Mother warns against such things. It is not you greeting her as her spirit brother that I worry about. Oh, no. She longs for that as well.”
“Then what is it?” He raised an eyebrow, his expression one of puzzlement.
“Put bluntly, you mean to encourage her to see Hawk.”
“I do indeed. I promised I would intercede for him. He longs for word from her. He sinks deeper into despair with each unanswered missive.”
“I intercepted them.”
Abruptly, Griffin rose, a trace of animosity creasing his forehead. “What? You mean she never saw them?”
Beside the wise man of Baline, Lunarey’s crystal turned bright. “Be at ease, lad and hear me out.”
“And if I choose to proceed alone, will you send your staff to bludgeon me?” Livid, Griffin stalked outside the ring of firelight and felt the chilling cold.
Melendarius raised his open palm skyward. The fire roared anew and the ring of luminance increased banishing the cold from the place where the big Shadallian stood.
Griffin raised an eyebrow. “And so you prove my vulnerability to cold.”
“Not I. The Mother knows the weakness of her children. Please sit with me once more while I explain my reluctance to pass on the messages from King Hawk.”
“Very well. Easy to see why the one you call Mother sees you as a meddler.”
Melendarius chuckled and then turned serious. “Evangeline dwells some small distance from Baline just now. Far enough that when the messengers arrived, she did not sense them. When she returned to us, I saw such a change in here. Thin almost to emaciation, dark circles beneath her eyes from hours of weeping, and so disheartened by happenings over the last two and a half seasons, I feared for her senses.”
“Surely, just being home would have improved all of that. Plus the knowledge that she accomplished what no other woman in our time has ever attempted.”
“Aye, and I prayed to the Mother for just that, but Evan saw none of it as having to do with her; even when I tried to tell her that the realms stand united where once they floundered. So instead of plaguing her with pleas from Hawk through those messengers, I responded to her wishes.”
“Which were?”
“To live in the place of her birth. Without pomp or celebration, without praise for which she believes she is unworthy. Instead, she desires the life of a healer, a simple country lass gifted with a healers touch.”
Griffin touched the old man’s hand. “Can you read my heart, Melendarius?”
“Aye, plain as the morning sun.”
“Then through me see King Hawk. He grieves for want of her. Each morning, Marcus Cailin speaks to him of political goals for Ascalla, for Lawrenzia. He deals with what he considers his duty and then withdraws from all eyes. He lives with an empty heart. Neither of them deserve such a journey. I lost my son, old man. No more profound grief does the world cast upon a man than the death of his child. Yet, I know that Shadall cradles him in her mighty arms, and when I reach home, my bride will hold me in hers.”
“And you ask what joy Hawk may find once he journeys home?”
“Aye, what joy?”
39 Cottage in the Wood
Hawk remained through the winter. Together, he and Christopher saw to leveling the slave pens and burning all save the stable and Chandler’s Tavern. Devon Runderly stayed behind as well but sent word with Billy that, once he found someone to take charge of the stable, he would follow. On the morning of Hawk’s planned departure, Christopher found him sorting old campaign documents for the council. He looked up when Christopher approached and set the parchments aside.
“I think that’s everything, Christopher. I tried to reorder them so that they make sense if anyone chooses to mark them historically.”
“Aye, Hawk, I am certain the council will see to them, but I wanted private words before you go.” Christopher drew a chair away from the long table and sat.
“Something amiss?” Concern edged Hawk’s voice. Had they overlooked some detail important enough to require postponement of his leaving.
“A private matter, Hawk.”
“Queen Ellyanna?” Hawk sensed as much. The last time they spoke her demeanor had worried him. She waved realm matters aside as inconsequential and ended the meeting abruptly.
“Aye, Hawk. She can’t distinguish objects without touching them. I fear the darkness when it comes will be complete.”
“Nothing helps? Has Melendarius seen her?”
“Aye, Melendarius and a dozen other healers.” Christopher had kept silent until now, but seeing the despair so apparent in Ellyanna emboldened him to speak.“There might be a way.”
“Go on, my friend.” Sensing hesitation, Hawk urged him to speak.
“Lady Millicent is a healer, one of those Melendarius calls the shadow people. But Millicent’s healing ability isn’t strong enough to help Elly.” Anxiety etched his handsome face. “I know little of healers, but Lady Evangeline may have a gift powerful enough to restore Elly’s sight.”
“And you want me to ask her.”
“Aye.”
“Evan does have an extraordinary gift for healing. I have witnessed the result, but I am not the one to promise such things, my friend. All that I can say is that I will tell her of the Queen’s plight.”
Christopher rose pacing the length of the council chamber. “Such a thing would be a wonder, but I fear raising her hopes only to have them dashed.”
Hawk nodded. “Understandable. Say nothing to Elly of our talk. If I find there is a chance, I’ll send word.”
“Lady Evangeline has agreed to meet with you then?”
“Aye, she has.” Frown lines creased his forehead.
“Surely that is cause for celebration.”
“I pray for that very thing, Christopher, but her missive was short to the point of terseness.”
***
Twilight bathed the cottage in a shadowy mix of lavender hues. A single pine warbler perched on its favorite branch preening an errant feather. It raised a wing and tucked its tiny head into the warm space benea
th. Pine needles coaxed to sing by the gentle breeze wafting through them, lulled the little bird to sleep. While the forest grew quiet save for the night creatures that roamed there, a little boy followed his mother about the clearing. Twice she settled him with a bag of colorful building blocks on the stoop outside the cottage. Uncle Horace gave him the blocks on his happy day last season. Paddy knew happy day meant the day he was born, and the light that shown from Mama's eyes when she spoke about it found the spot in his heart that did make his world the happiest of all places. Most delightful were the times she sang to him in her pure, sweet voice. Mama knew the sweetest songs. Those he loved best made him laugh aloud and clap his hands in time.
Keeping time was a new ability for Paddy, one Jem had taught him. Next to Mama and Maudie, Jem was his favorite person in the world. Paddy had no playmates his own age. It seemed all of the people in Baline were grownups and their sons and daughters were grownups, too. But Jem, while many years older, still had to mind his mama the same as Paddy did. Jem played a lute and sang songs, too. He sang different songs from the nonsense rhymes Mama made-up about waddling ducks or jumpy frogs. When Jem plucked the strings of his lute, he made pretty tunes. Sometimes the melodies and words made everyone smile. But other times a far away feeling grew in the space around him. The words Jem sang told stories, and people from all around Baline came to the inn just to listen.
Paddy's mama didn't let him listen to the stories because they spoke of the before time, bad days when dark-spirited men crossed the Blue Mountains and hurt people. Jem called them Owlmen and sang about terrible deeds. When Jem sang songs like that, Mama always took him away. Jem's mama gave him a smack those times, but Mama said even though small ears shouldn't hear such things didn’t mean Jem should stop telling the stories because people needed reminding. That set Paddy wondering if Mama meant he had small ears, so he had climbed onto the chair where Mama sat to dress her hair. He could see his reflection in the looking glass. The glass made his face kind of wobbldygook when he turned his head, but he ignored the twist it gave his tummy and pulled on his ears until they turned red. Then Jenny caught him looking and asked what he was up to. His face went red as his ears, but Jenny smiled and tousled his hair. Busy with chores, she had left him staring at his reflection.