She Walks in Power

by Tyndall, MaryLu

  Ronar’s heart crumbled to ash.

  “They set a trap,” Jarin added. “Told her Cristiana was dying. She walked right into it.”

  As Ronar had predicted. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, trying to settle his rising fear.

  “She had the Spear, Ronar.”

  For a moment, he was unsure he heard clearly. Nay. Couldn’t be. Alexia had vowed to him there would be no more secrets.

  Ronar opened his eyes. “What are you saying?”

  “The Spear of Destiny. Aye, all this time. ’Twas found on her person.”

  Could his heart stand another blow? Ronar pressed a hand to his chest as a palpable pain burned therein. His thoughts scattered to all the tender moments they’d shared, all the things he’d told her and no one else. His jaw tightened into a knot. She knew he and his men were searching for the Spear. She knew how much finding it meant to him, how much he longed to please his king. Yet she had adamantly denied knowing anything about it. And when they’d slept side by side, there it had been, mere inches from him.

  Betrayal sank into Ronar’s gut like a hard stone never to be lifted again. He leaned back against the wall and stared at the wooden floor.

  “I fear she is not to be trusted, Ronar,” Damien said. “I know you harbor affection for her, but she has done naught but deceive you, fire arrows at you, and play you for a fool.”

  Jarin rubbed his chin and shared a glance with Damien. “Now that the bishop has the Spear, we are ordered back to London on the morrow.”

  “What of Alexia?” Ronar stared at his friends.

  “She is to be burned at the stake at noon.”

  Another punch to his gut. Ronar forced down the bile rising in his throat.

  “I’m sorry, Ronar, but what can we do?” Jarin frowned. “The bishop has decreed it.”

  Bishop Montruse. God forgive him, but Ronar had not found the man worthy to make such a decree. Alexia was no witch. A liar, aye. Alack, a very good one. A liar who had caused him to defy the bishop, the king, and even God. Yet, were those not the workings of a witch? He raked a hand through his hair and longed to disappear into the wall behind him, melt into the cold, sharp stone and become so hard, no one could hurt him again.

  Jarin approached and gripped Ronar’s arm. “Leave at once for London and appeal to the king before we arrive with the bishop. Tell him you were merely pretending to befriend her while you searched for the Spear. He will understand.”

  But Ronar could not shake the vision of Alexia tied to a pole, screaming in agony whilst flames leapt around her feet. Turning, he gripped the edge of the window to hide the sudden weakness in his legs. Had she played him for a fool? Befriended him, declared her love for him, only with the intent to use him?

  Just like his good friend Brom.

  Yet…for what purpose? She didn’t need protection, hadn’t even asked for it. In truth, she’d done her best to avoid him.

  He slammed his fist against the wall, ignoring the pain and the bloody mark it left. “How is she guarded?”

  Damien snorted. “You aren’t thinking—”

  “Ten of Luxley’s best knights stand guard at the door of her cell,” Jarin interrupted, his voice full of anger and defeat. “Only LeGode holds the key. ’Tis impossible, Ronar. Even for you.”

  A torrent of fear swept over him, and he ground his teeth together, knowing they were right.

  “Aye, I will leave,” he finally said, pushing from the window.

  “Wise.” Damien rose. “We will see you in London.”

  Bidding his friends farewell, Ronar embraced them as though he would never see them again. Mayhap he wouldn’t, for he had no intention of going to London.

  Everything within him, every ounce of his being knew he must rescue Alexia. Witch or not, liar or not, he could not allow her to burn. What he didn’t know was whether this need to save her came from his shattered heart, and hence, would most likely end in his death. Or did the Almighty wish her to be punished for her crimes? When it came to Alexia, Ronar didn’t trust his judgment.

  But there was one person who would tell him the truth.

  An hour later, as Ronar rode Penance through Emerald Forest, he did something he rarely did. He talked to God. He asked Him for help to find the friar. An impossible task with so huge a forest and so little a man. And a man who hid himself well. But Ronar must find him before daybreak.

  The scent of moss, loamy soil, and sodden wood wafted over him as the crunch and thud of Penance’s hooves echoed through the misty air. Woodland creatures scurried about, stopping to peer at him in the patches of moonlight infiltrating the canopy.

  Ronar was not one to cower at every shadow and sound in the darkness, but this night, something evil was afoot. Trees appeared from the mist like towering giants ready to pounce on him. Underbrush rose like thorny trolls determined to halt his progress. Vines reached for his throat and wrapped around his body. An owl gave an ominous hoo hoo, a raven cawed, a wolf howled—sounds that quickened his heart and slowed his pace. Gray shadows in the shape of men leapt between trees as moonlight spiraled down upon a world that seemed foreign to him.

  Drawing his sword, he called the friar’s name, only to hear his own voice echo hollow back to him.

  Yet he kept going. He had no choice.

  A figure stepped onto the path—too solid to be a shadow, too far to see his face.

  “Who goes there?” Ronar said with a courage he didn’t feel. “Announce yourself.”

  “Are you searching for me, Sir Knight?”

  Friar Josef. Ronar released a breath and slid from Penance.

  The friar stepped into a swath of moonlight, assessing Ronar with eyes filled with concern. “Where is Alexia?”

  “That is why I have come. May we talk?”

  “I thought we were.” The friar gestured to a fallen log, whereupon—after many a grunt and groan—he lowered himself to sit. “Forgive an old man, but my feet are not what they used to be.”

  Ronar couldn’t sit. He could hardly stand still. Sword still in hand, he glanced over the dark forest, no longer sensing evil. “Alexia is in the tower and will be burned at the stake on the morrow.”

  His words had the expected response. A gasp, followed by horror-filled eyes that soon blurred with tears. “Nay, this cannot be. How? I thought you protected her.”

  Guilt slammed atop Ronar’s fear. “’Tis a long story, Friar. They claim she is a witch.”

  “A witch?” The friar gave an incredulous snort. “She could no more be a witch than the blessed Mother.”

  “Bishop Montruse is convinced.”

  “And you believe him?” The friar blew out a sigh, one brow arched. “Because he claims to speak for God?”

  “Whom am I to believe? A man of the cloth or a woman who has lied to me repeatedly.”

  “Believe God, young knight. Seek His truth.” He pointed toward Ronar’s chest.

  Sheathing his sword, Ronar knelt, picked up a stick and began batting leaves on the ground. “Mayhap this is God’s will for her. She had the Spear all along. You both deceived me.”

  “So it is lost then.” Despair weighed the friar’s voice. “She hated deceiving you, Ronar. But she is the Protector of the Spear. ’Twas her God-appointed task to keep it safe from those who would abuse its power.”

  “Abuse?” Ronar returned angrily. “We intended to bring it to the king. Surely God’s anointed should possess such a Holy treasure?”

  “The king is but a man like you and me. The Spear should not be used for men’s wars and struggles for power.”

  “What, pray, is its purpose then?”

  “That is for God to decide.”

  Growling, Ronar rose and stared into the shadowy forest. “I don’t know what to think anymore. You and Alexia have befuddled my mind with your heresies! Life was simpler ere I met you. I followed King and Church and earned my penance with good deeds.”

  The friar struggled to rise, then brushed off his cowl. “Fol
low God. ’Twill be much less confusing.” He turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To pray for Alexia. Only God can save her now.”

  More confused than ever, Ronar called after him. “What should I do?”

  “Save her, of course.”

  “How can I? I am but one man against the bishop, Sir LeGode, and all the knights of Luxley.”

  Halting, the friar turned to face him. “Nay. You are one man and God.”

  ♥♥♥

  Alexia wasn’t one to cry, but to her shame, she’d spent the last hour sobbing as if she were naught but a wee child. She cried for her failure to protect the Spear, the horrific fate awaiting her sister, for disappointing Ronar, the friar—and most of all, disappointing God. Some protector she was. God had given her such marvelous gifts of power and discernment, and she’d squandered them by allowing her emotions to control her actions instead of trusting Him. Now, all was lost. On the morrow, she’d be tied to a pole before her enemies as fire consumed her flesh bit by bit. She hugged herself. How much pain would she endure ere she fainted or died? Her skin grew cold and moist at the thought.

  She glanced up at the dark window. Would that this night would end, and her sentence be carried out swiftly, for the endless waiting would be her undoing.

  No longer did she hope for rescue. Ronar was most likely in London by now. She couldn’t blame him. She’d deceived him too many times to expect his care. Or his forgiveness.

  “Father,” she wailed into the darkness. “I have failed You and everyone else I love. I deserve whatever punishment that comes my way.” She swiped her tears. “Just please, please, save my sister. Do not allow her to wed Cedric. Protect her from the evil that lurks in this place.”

  A light appeared by her bare feet. The tiniest of specks at first. But then it grew brighter and brighter and wider and wider until it moved onto her toes and started sliding up her ankles and onto her chemise. She looked up to seek its source and found a man dressed in white, glowing as radiantly as the sun. His eyes met hers from a face firm but kind. His height reached for the ceiling, and the breadth of him was mighty. And though she’d seen such beings before and knew they were from God, she shrank against the stone wall in fear.

  “Fear not, favored one.” His voice was a soft thunder, authoritative yet gentle. He extended his arm toward her and opened his hand. There in his palm sat the Spear.

  Her heart leapt for joy at the mere sight of it. She sensed he wanted her to take it from him, but her legs were unable to move. Finally, he placed it on the floor by her feet and backed away.

  Would he take her with him? Unlock the door and release her as the angel had done for the Apostle Peter in the Scriptures?

  “Take me with you,” she dared to plead.

  He merely smiled. “Nay. You have work to do, mighty warrior of the Most High.”

  Work? Mighty? All that remained was for her to die a torturous death.

  She was about to ask him what work, when, as quickly as he had come, he turned and walked through the stone wall as if it were made of water.

  A few minutes passed ere Alexia could breathe. Though darkness consumed the chamber once again, she remembered exactly where the angel had left the Spear. She found it quickly, sped to the door, grabbed the handle, and yanked with all her might.

  It wouldn’t budge.

  She held the Spear up to it and commanded, “Open in the name of Jesus.”

  Nothing.

  Favored one. She gazed up. “Then why do You wish me to die?” LeGode and the bishop would only discover the Spear in the morning. What was she supposed to do with it?

  Her answer came within the hour when muffled voices sounded from outside her door, and the clank of the lock preceded the lovely vision of her sister. Two guards followed her in, one holding a torch, the other a sword. As soon as Cristiana saw her, she flew into Alexia’s arms and began to sob. Forcing down her own tears, Alexia clung to her, breathing in her sweet scent, and never wanting to let go. But she had to, she had to be strong—for Cristiana’s sake.

  Taking her sister’s arm, Alexia led her as far away from the knights as she could. “No more tears, sweet sister. ’Twill be all right. You’ll see.”

  Face moist, Cristiana glanced at the guards. “Sir LeGode only granted me a minute.”

  “I’m surprised he allowed even that.”

  “I promised him I’d go for a stroll with Cedric.” Her lips twisted in disgust.

  Alexia brushed hair from her face. “I’m so happy to see you.”

  “I cannot bear to lose you, Alexia. What shall I do? I cannot go on!”

  “You will go on, Cristiana. You must. God will be with you.”

  “He has not protected me thus far. ’Tis only been you.”

  “Because He sent me. He will send another.” Placing a finger beneath her chin, she lifted her gaze. “You are stronger than you know, Cristiana. Remember when we were children and you escaped from our chamber at night and came to the aid of the widow Bane’s sick child?”

  “Only because you begged me to bring fresh nettle.”

  “But you did it nonetheless.”

  Cristiana swayed and Alexia wrapped an arm around her waist. “Are you still unwell?” Fear renewed.

  Coughing, Cristiana leaned on her sister. “Aye, it came on me late today. I do not understand. I have been eating naught but what Jarin and Anabelle bring me.” She pressed fingers to her temples.

  “LeGode is too clever and has figured us out. You must tell Jarin. Promise me.”

  “Aye. But what does it matter? He will always find a way.”

  “Cristiana, you must believe. Believe God loves you and will never leave you. Therein lies your strength.”

  “You have always been my strength.” Cristiana sobbed.

  One of the guards cleared his throat. “Time’s up.”

  Nay! These cannot be Alexia’s last moments with her sister. She could not bear the pain. She embraced Cristiana, forcing down her agony, extending the moment as long as possible. Wait. The Spear! A gentle prompting touched her spirit. Pulling back ever so slightly, Alexia slipped the Spear into Cristiana’s hand.

  “What is this?”

  “’Tis the Spear for which everyone seeks. It is yours now to protect.” She closed her sister’s fingers around the precious relic.

  “The Spear of Destiny? I cannot…”

  “You can. Mother gave it to me to protect, and now I pass it on to you, dear sister. You are now the Protector of the Spear.”

  “I can’t even protect myself.” Terror streaked Cristiana’s voice.

  “It will protect you. God will use it to guide you.”

  “But it isn’t protecting you!”

  “My time is up. ’Tis yours now.”

  “Nay nay nay!” Cristiana wailed.

  “Shh. Be still,” Alexia whispered, glancing at the guard. “Put it in your pocket and then hide it well. Seek out Friar Josef in the forest. He will tell you all.”

  “Now!” The guard with the sword approached.

  Cristiana’s terror-streaked eyes met Alexia’s. She gripped the Spear tight just as the brute grabbed her arm.

  Alexia squeezed her sister’s hand. “Do not mourn me, sister. I will be in heaven, and we will see each other again.”

  The guard laughed. “Not where yer going, witch!”

  As he tugged Cristiana away, light from the torch shone over Alexia’s wrist. The mark of the Spear began to fade…slowly…slowly, growing fainter and lighter…until it was no more. One glance at her sister’s wrist assured Alexia she had made the right decision.

  The door slammed shut, enclosing her in a tomb of darkness once again. She rubbed her wrist, cold and empty now without the mark. She was no longer the Protector of the Spear. That could only mean one thing.

  Tomorrow she would surely die.

  Chapter 32

  Alexia spent the remainder of the night and most of the morning in prayer. Des
pite her impending torturous death, God had filled her with a peace she hadn’t expected. But it had been a hard-won peace, for the demons of fear and despair had fought relentlessly to reign in her soul, to drag her spirit down into the muck and mire where they lived. Then she remembered Ronar’s advice, and she sought the truth of God’s love within. The truth of His Word she had read so many times and committed to memory. That all things work together for good for those who love God, that God loved her so much He gave His only Son to die in her stead, that this life was but a vapor, a shadow of things to come, and that if she remained steadfast to the end, such glories awaited her she could not imagine. She recited the Holy Words out loud and said the name Jesus so often that the demonic horde hovering about her had disappeared, leaving peace and love to flood her heart.

  Thus, when five guards arrived to escort her to her death, she felt naught but anticipation for her move into eternity. Alas, mayhap a spark of fear for the pain she would suffer first. Yet even that vanished when the bishop in a flurry of crimson robes, golden crucifix swinging across his chest, stormed past the guards into her prison cell and burned her with eyes aflame with hatred.

  “Where is the Spear, witch?”

  She resisted the urge to laugh at his blustering countenance. “You took it from me, your Excellency. Do you not recall? Have you misplaced it?”

  He growled and started for her, then controlled himself and lifted his chin. “Call for a wench to come search her.” He shouted to one of the guards.

  “Where would I hide it?” Alexia lifted her hands and glanced down at her chemise, so thin, it left naught to the imagination.

  An imagination she saw spinning with lust behind the bishop’s eyes.

  She hugged herself. “Search me all you wish, but pray, let us proceed with the burning. I grow weary of the wait.”

  Something flickered in the man’s widened eyes—shock, admiration? “Where is your fear, witch? Why are you not cowering before me, begging for your life? Do you not realize that a word from me would save you?”

  “Do you not realize that if God wished me to live, no word from you would stop Him?”