by June Wilson
Orla gasped and pulled her hands away. She’d never felt such despair before. It was if all living things were lost forever and there was only cold dread and misery in their place, stretching out to eternity. Why had someone done this to such an innocent boy?
Just then the boy’s eyes fluttered open. They darted around nervously as he took in the wagon and Orla herself as she smoothed the hair back from his forehead.
“Who are you?” he said. “Where’s the Lady? She’s gone, hasn’t she, and left me behind.” His lip wobbled and a tear rolled down his cheek. “She promised she’d take me, but then she said I wasn’t the one. I told her I could be, but I don’t think she believed me.”
He began to cry in earnest and Orla pulled him close. He trembled in her arms, his small body wracked with sobs, until it seemed he could cry no longer. He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“Can you take me home?” he said. “I’m hungry.”
Orla smiled. Hunger was a good sign and it seemed his memory was coming back. “Of course – but first I’m going to mend your cuts, so you feel better. How did you get them – do you remember?”
The boy seemed to notice the scratches on his arms and legs for the first time and frowned. “I was in the woods with my friends – we go there all the time. We were playing by the river, throwing sticks into the water, to see whose would go the furthest. And then we saw the Lady, she was…” The boy broke off and Orla looked up to see what had attracted his attention. It was the twins, running towards the wagon, holding two water pouches aloft.
“We’ve got it!” Daisy shouted. “It took ages, didn’t it Rose, because we had to go further than we thought. There were too many stagnant pools, so we had to go upstream.”
“Stop shouting Daisy,” Rose said. “You’re frightening him.”
“What? Oh – he’s awake.” Daisy’s eyes widened. “Thank goodness. We were worried he might die after all, given we took so long.”
Rose rolled her eyes and handed her pouch to Orla. “We didn’t really think you’d die,” she said. “Daisy can be a bit, um, rude sometimes.”
The boy shuffled closer to Orla, still staring. Twins were unusual in Middengard and it was possible he’d never seen anyone like Daisy and Rose before.
“He’s a little disoriented,” Orla said. “A tisane will help – use comfrey and mint. And Daisy – can you go look for some tea-rose berries? They’ll help too.”
The twins ran off again and Orla felt the boy relax. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “They’re not demons - just sisters who look like each other. Perhaps you have sisters, at home?”
The boy nodded. “Cara – she’s older than me. And I’m Carl.”
“Carl and Cara – they’re lovely names. I’m sure Karin will be pleased to see you when you get home. Which village are you from?”
“Middle Fell.” He looked round, frowning. “How did I get here? I’ve never been on this road before.”
Middle Fell – so the boy was from Soren’s village. They had ridden a good ten leagues that morning. No wonder there had been no sign of him or the other boys in the woods nearby, if he’d ended up on this remote road.
“Carl – what happened to your friends? The ones you were playing with?”
“They ran away. They were scared – but I wasn’t. The lady was so pretty. She sang to me and held my hand and told me she would take me to her kingdom, where I could have anything I’ve ever wanted.” He lifted his chin defiantly. “I wanted to go.”
“And what happened then?”
“She took me to this place. It was near some big stones and there was thorns and stinging bushes all around. She said she had to test me – and I was worried about that, because I’m not good at learning my lessons. But she said it wasn’t like that, all she had to do was hold me close. And she picked me up like I was a baby and sang some more and kissed my forehead and then, and then…” He turned away and rubbed at his eyes.
“And then?” Orla prompted.
“Then she pushed me away and said I was no good. And it hurt when she did that – in here.” He put his hand to his forehead and she could tell he was trying not to cry again.
“I wanted to stay with her, but she shouted at me and told me to run, so I did, even though I didn’t want to. I ran and ran and I got lost and then it was dark and I couldn’t find the path home. So I went to sleep and then it was morning and I then I saw that girl. The one there’s two of.”
“Thank you Carl. You’ve been very brave.” Orla kissed his forehead. “But can you tell me where your friends ran off to?’
He shook his head. “They were so scared. They ran really fast. They might be at High Fell – we’ve got a hiding place there, an old barn by the river.”
Orla hoped he was right. High Fell was the last village on the road to the Vale. The villagers there would be able to find the other children. It seemed Soren’s prayers had been answered after all.
“Thank you Carl.” She kissed his forehead. “We’ll go to High Fell and find your friends. And then someone will take you home. But first I’m going to give you something nice and warm to drink. Would you like that?”
Carl nodded and his small hand fastened round hers. “I’d like to see the sisters again too,” he whispered. “So I can tell Olaf and Stefan. Bet they’ve never seen anything like them before.”
MIDDENGARD – 1986
Chapter 10
Stanor of Skellstor, captain of the Guard and newly promoted Gate Warden, was enjoying a rare day’s leave. He had just visited his mother in the village of Middle Fell and decided to take the long way back to the city, via the beautiful lake of Glassmere.
The sun was warm on his back and his stomach pleasantly full of his mother’s cooking. And if Stanor was allowing himself a moment of self-congratulation, who could blame him? Ellie was safe in the human world; the last of the Haevstor rebels had been brought to justice and Geraint was showing signs of good leadership. As for Stanor himself, he had achieved what he had always wanted: the post of Gate Warden, one of the most respected positions in the whole of Middengard.
Yes, it was indeed a time to thank the Aetheling for his good fortune. There was only one more thing that would make his happiness complete – or so his mother thought, at least.
“What – no wife yet?” she’d asked as she bustled round her kitchen. “Not even a betrothal? What have you been doing all this time? You’re almost thirty!”
He knew there’d been no point telling her that ever since he entered the Skellstor Guard, his life had been one of training, studying and more training. There had been no time to indulge in any other activities, particularly romantic ones. And because he wasn’t of high birth like many of the Guard, a marriage hadn’t been arranged for him. There was no denying he would like to fall in love and marry, but that was a future that seemed less likely with every passing day. Then he shook his head and almost laughed at his own foolishness: why was he wishing for bright things like a child? For him it was enough to fulfill his duty and to fight for what he revered: the Oath of Peace and the continuing harmony of all the worlds.
Satisfied with where this logic had taken him, he would never have noticed the strange object floating in the mere if his horse hadn’t chosen that moment to throw him.
“Elfric! What’s got into you?” he chided. The fall had been undignified but he was otherwise unscathed. The greater surprise was Elfric’s behaviour - like all horses groomed for battle, he was trained never to throw a rider. And now the stallion had run off to boot - halting only at the lake’s edge.
“Elfric!” he shouted again and the horse reared up, making a pitiful noise.
“What is it, boy? What’s bothering you?” Stanor caught the bridle and looked out across the mere, shading his eyes from the sun. Where silver water met blue sky, he thought he could see something – an abandoned boat? He strained to see more. As the object floated nearer he could see it wasn’t a boat at all, but a bundle of
clothing.
Suddenly Elfric reared again and knocked him into the water. It was deeper than it looked and as he surfaced, gasping for breath, he realized he had been twice mistaken. It was no bundle of clothing but a body - with no sign of life.
Stanor was a good swimmer, but as the current bore the body away again, he cursed his lack of foresight. He had his own robe to fight as well as the lake’s depths. But he couldn’t give up now. Stroke after powerful stroke brought him level at last and he pulled for shore, careful to keep the near-drowned girl from the water.
For a young girl it was, skin deathly pale and hair the colour of barley. He laid her on the warm grass and cleared the pondweed from her throat. How old was she? Twenty, maybe younger. Freya help me, he prayed. Do not take so young a maid to the Vale of Tears.
It seemed the Goddess heard him, as the girl coughed suddenly and opened her eyes. “Who are you?” she whispered.
“I am Stanor of Skellstor.”
“Did you save me?” Her dark eyes searched his face.
“I did. Though, in truth, you have Elfric to thank for it.”
“Elfric?” the girl grasped his arm. “Where is he?”
“Over there.”
“Oh – your horse.” She gave weak smile.
“What happened to you?” he asked gently. “An accident?”
“Yes – an accident.” Her eyes darted away from him. “A boat, the oars…my own fault.”
“I see.” There was no sign of a boat – but the lake was vast and the currents strong. “Do you live close by?”
“Close by? Yes, yes - very close. The Manor – beyond the trees.”
The Manor of Glassmere – Stanor knew it. A grand estate fallen into decay since the death of the Jarl. Stanor had met him once. He’d been a loyal ally of Skellstor in its struggles against the Haevstor nobles.
“And you belong to the household? Is there someone who can care for you?”
The girl made no answer and turned her face away. Perhaps she was a servant who had taken the boat without permission. If that was so, she’d paid for her wrongdoing. Whatever the circumstances, he couldn’t leave her here. The afternoon was growing chill and she needed dry clothes and a warm fire.
“Are you able to ride? Elfric will go slowly, if I coax him.”
The girl nodded and he helped her to her feet. As he did so, he realized her dress was no servant’s homespun. It was silk. Faded – but silk all the same. Perhaps the girl had stolen it and run off in fear. Though a dress hardly seemed worth drowning for.
“You are wondering who I am,” the girl said suddenly, as if divining his thoughts. “I am Helaine of Glassmere and no one cares for me. But I would be very grateful if you could take me home.”
Stanor knew he should have ridden straight on to Skellstor. He had delivered Helaine into the arms of a fearsome looking housekeeper called Brigit, who clucked over her as if she were a child. Servants scurried here, there and everywhere, fetching hot water and firewood and all manner of delicacies from the kitchens. His duty done, he should have politely declined the offer of food and made do with his damp clothes, but Brigit had cut him short.
“Nonsense! Who ever heard of such a thing? You have done us a great service – so you must eat our bread and drink our ale. And give me those wet clothes, before you catch your death.”
Which was why he found himself eating a bowl of stew with warm black bread whilst his uniform steamed dry in front of a roaring fire. For modesty’s sake he was in a servant’s tunic, with a plain woolen cloak round his shoulders.
“I hope you didn’t take offence at Brigit’s manner – telling a man of your standing to disrobe,” Hilda the cook said now. “T’was good she did - you’re wet as wet and that uniform near ruined.” She reached for his empty bowl and promptly replaced it with a new one. “She’s over-protective, you see. Ever since Lady Enid died, Brigit’s been mother, tutor and nurse to that girl.”
“Nurse? Is she ill then?” Perhaps illness had contributed to her accident – for accident it must have been, Stanor was sure of that now. Helaine was a lady of noble lineage and young and beautiful. He was embarrassed he’d thought otherwise.
Hilda tapped the side of head. “Sick in here. Just like her mother. Has these turns – screeches at the top of the voice, she does! You wouldn’t believe it to look at her, would you? Such a slip of a thing.”
“Has she seen anyone? A healer?” Stanor had heard of people being afflicted in this way before.
“Useless, they are.” A look of disgust crossed Hilda’s face. “One such came to see Lady Enid, just before she died. He gave her some medicine – but it didn’t stop her drowning herself did it?”
Stanor felt his insides go cold. “She drowned herself?”
“In the mere. Helaine found her, poor girl. Sobbed her heart out - kept saying it was her fault.”
Stanor turned his attention back to the stew, though in truth he’d lost his appetite. A brave father killed and a mother drowned; a daughter afflicted with the same illness.
“She’s beautiful though, isn’t she sir? As I’m sure you noticed.” Hilda was looking at him closely, a satisfied smile on her face. “And no suitor has come for her, as yet.”
Stanor shifted under her direct gaze. It was bad enough discussing such matters with his mother and he certainly wasn’t going to discuss them with Hilda.
“I’m sure Lady Helene will have many suitors, in time,” he said stiffly. “She’s very young.”
“She’s eighteen – old enough to be wed,” Hilda said pointedly. “And the Manor needs a new master.”
Stanor got to his feet and gathered up his cloak and sword, along with his uniform, which was nicely warm and dry. All this talk of suitors had made him nervous. And yet hadn’t he been the one wishing he had a wife?
“I must take my leave. There’s a curfew and I must reach the West Gate before dark. Thank you for the stew Hilda and convey my best wishes to Lady Helaine. I hope she makes a speedy recovery.”
“Don’t be offended by a foolish old woman’s words sir,” Hilda said hurriedly, catching his arm. “And if you can find to time to ride this way again, I’m sure we’d all be very happy to see you.”
“Yes, well – when my duties permit, perhaps I could make another visit. But it may not be for some time, you understand.”
Hilda gave him a toothy grin. “I understand sir - more than you would think. Here - take these biscuits for your journey. And this brandy wine too.”
Stanor took the offered gifts – brandy wine was rare to come by and it would be churlish to refuse. And by the time he rode from the Manor, his thoughts were already turning to the prospect of his next day’s leave, and whether or not his mother would be surprised by two visits in the same month.
*
And so it was that Stanor’s wish for a wife came true. Within the year they were betrothed. And if some days it all felt like a dream (a wonderful one but a dream nonetheless) there was always his mother, not to mention Brigit and Hilda, to remind him the wedding feast was only a short month away. There was only one thing that marred his happiness – his concern for Helaine’s health, despite her protestations that his worries were needless.
Which was why he now found himself on the road to Oerin. He’d been riding for days and he was hot, tired and in need of a bath when he finally approached Isolde’s cave. He hadn’t warned her of his arrival and he wondered now if this had been a mistake. She’d sought solitude for a reason and could refuse to see him. The thought of the long journey back, with nothing accomplished, was more than he could contemplate. He could only hope he’d find her in one of her better moods.
The entrance to the cave was dark and damp, the ground slick with moss. He felt his way tentatively until his eyes adjusted to the gloom. But there was a prick of light ahead and he could smell wood smoke.
“Oh – it’s you, is it?”
Isolde had materialized in front of him. Her face was more lined than he r
emembered, but her violet eyes still had the spark of a much younger woman.
“Forgive the intrusion. I should have sent word.”
“What would be the point of that? I’m a Seer, remember – I was expecting you. So, since you’re here, you’d better tell me what you want.”
Stanor followed her into a large cavern. It was surprisingly warm and dry. In the centre stood a rough-hewn table, littered with herbs, and shelves with stoppered bottles.
“Sit – sit.” Isolde waved her staff at him. “The floor will have to do. No fancy chambers here.”
Stanor did as he was told. But how to begin?
“Come on – out with it. I haven’t got all day.”
“I need your help, Isolde.”
The old woman’s lips folded into a thin line. “No more help. Did that fool Regil send you? Thought you could soften me up?”
He shook his head. “He doesn’t know I’m here. This isn’t about Skellstor.” He took a breath. “It’s about me.”
“You?” She looked at him closely. “Ah – something ails you. Your heart is sore. Love?” She gave a bark of laughter. “What – she doesn’t return it? Who is she – some fine Skellstor lady?”
Stanor reddened like a boy. “No - a Jarl’s daughter. She’s agreed to be my wife – we’re to be married in two weeks. But she’s ill, Isolde. And you’re the greatest healer in all of Middengard and…” He stopped. Why blabber like a fool? He knew better than to flatter.
“Ill? Ill how?”
“It’s past my understanding. She has headaches and fits and her breath almost leaves her body. The servants say her mother bore the same affliction.”
“Humph. And who is she, this girl? A Jarl’s daughter, you say?”
“Helaine of Glassmere. An orphan now and heir to the estate.”
A shadow passed across Isolde’s face – or so he thought. “Glassmere? Enid of Glassmere?”
“Her mother. You knew her?” Helaine had never mentioned this.
“A pupil of mine. Some talent – but foolish in the end.”
“What happened?”