by L. M. Roth
Now he was at leisure to drink in the glory of the autumn brilliance. Crisp mornings drenched in dew gave way to afternoons bathed in dreamy warmth, which surrendered to evenings saturated in fiery sunsets, and chilled to mauve and indigo skies sprinkled with stars at the sinking of the sun.
After their first night spent in the hut of Laig, the smithy, they were invited to stay with Cadeyrn and his family, as his wife and children wanted to hear all about Marcus’ travels and experiences since he had left Eirinia. They had heard from Cadeyrn how Marcus had saved his life from the wolf, and they now regarded their former slave as a friend of the family. For Marcus, it was an entirely different experience to stay with the family as an honored guest, and not as a despised slave. And it was an experience that brought healing as well.
He quickly took on some of his old duties out of a new desire to serve them in thanks for their hospitality, and not as required by him from his duty as a slave. He quickly came to like and respect the man he had once been forced to call his master, and Cadeyrn in return felt a fatherly affection for the young Valerian aristocrat who had sullenly served him in the days of his enforced captivity.
Treks through the woods near Cadeyrn’s hut refreshed his spirit as the smell of rich black earth combined with the smoky aroma of fallen leaves ascended in the air. Glimpses of deer fleeing at the sight of man treading its realm awakened a sense of oneness with all creatures fashioned by the hand of Dominio. There were rumors of other creatures hidden in the forest’s depths, careful to conceal themselves from passersby.
His friends appeared equally content to remain in Eirinia for however long they were detained. Weary from the months of travel and hostile encounters with the citizens of strange lands, it was balm to their wounded souls to be welcomed so warmly by Cadeyrn and his family. They did not pass the days idly.
The young men joined Marcus in assisting Cadeyrn with whatever work needed to be done. Kyrene and Elena helped with cooking and cleaning, and even journeyed to the small fishing village of Annick on occasion to purchase the catch of the day for the evening meal. In this trek they were usually accompanied by Dag and Cort. Dag insisted on offering his protection lest they be accosted while walking alone. Cort liked the fishing village as a diversion from the hard work on Cadeyrn’s homestead.
That there were other attractions to be found in Annick was unknown to Marcus until one day when the little band returned from their excursion with a young boy with raven hair in tow. He recognized Brenus, the lad who had taken such offense with Cort over their altercation.
Now he seemed at ease with the little troop, and chattered with considerable animation with Cort, who beamed with the pleasure of a new friendship formed. Marcus wondered what had wrought such a miraculous transformation in their relationship that had begun with so much rancor and hostility.
He would soon become enlightened.
The two young boys broke away from the rest of the band and scampered up to Marcus and Felix. They stood before them and waited to be addressed. Felix was the first to speak. He shot a grin of mischief at Marcus which he smothered as he turned with a mock frown to Brenus.
“Ho there, young man,” he began in a stern voice. “When last we met you were determined to stone young Cort here. Pray, tell me, what has changed your mind?”
Brenus darted a quick glance of his bright black eyes up to the face of Felix. Seeing the twinkle that Felix could not suppress, his narrow face relaxed into a sheepish grin. He looked at Cort, and the two broke into gales of laughter.
Felix pretended to be indignant.
“Well,” he huffed. “I am waiting.”
Cort sobered first, and answered.
“It was Dominio,” he piped. “That is what it was. He would not let me rest until I made peace. Truly, He would not! So, I went back to the village. Back with Kyrene,” he smiled up at Kyrene, who had caught up to the boys, with Dag and Elena immediately behind her.
“And Cort told me all about Alexandros!” Brenus announced. “Such wonderful stories! How He came to bring peace between God and man. And with each other, too! So, I did!” he exulted. “With God. And with Cort!” he finished as he grinned at his friend.
Marcus and Felix exchanged smiles, and marveled at the turn of events.
“That is truly wonderful!” Marcus declared as he beamed an approving gaze on both boys.
Then he was struck by a thought.
“Tell me, Brenus,” he inquired in a slow, drawling voice. “What of your mother, Judoc? What thinks she of your new faith?”
“Oh, she believes too!” Brenus replied with a quick nod of his head.
“Well, that is good news, indeed!” exclaimed Marcus, cheered by the assurance.
He knew the pain inflicted on Dag and Bimo by the rejection of family and friends, and was relieved that one so young would be spared conflict within his own home.
“Oh yes, she does believe!” Cort chimed in. “She does!”
“Ah,” Marcus breathed with one eyebrow raised. “And did you tell her also about Alexandros?” he asked Brenus.
“Oh no, it was not I,” he answered. “It was he who told my mother, when he took me home one day.”
Brenus pointed a finger at Dag, who unaccountably blushed, then looked away from Marcus as he cleared his throat.
Revelation suddenly dawned on Marcus, but Brenus continued to speak.
“Yes, he said it would be best for him to explain, lest she did not understand what I spoke of.”
Cort nodded his head eagerly, and confirmed the words of Brenus.
“And he speaks to her every day at her fish stall, while we gather the fish for dinner.”
A snort that was quickly smothered by Felix turned Marcus’ attention to his friend, who leaned close to him and muttered under his breath.
“So nice of Dag to escort the ladies for their protection every day, don’t you agree?”
Chapter XXIX
A Dark Festival
It was not that Marcus was truly surprised at how quickly the courtship of Dag and Judoc progressed. If he was surprised it was due to how well-suited the two actually seemed.
After the romance and betrothal with Fanchon that flared up like a bursting flame in a burning log, leaving only ash in its remains, Marcus warily observed Dag’s newest lady love. He earnestly hoped she would not break his friend’s heart, as did Fanchon and his former sweetheart in Trekur Lende long ago.
But Judoc was as different from Fanchon as a hummingbird is to a butterfly. Each shared a sense of joy, and a quickness to laugh, but where Fanchon had been prone to flights of fancy, randomly fluttering from one topic of conversation to another, Judoc seemed intent on whatever purpose was at hand, never wavering until the task was done, whether it be tending her fish stall or studying the teachings of Alexandros. Her mind was quick and her intellect keen, as she bent her attention to absorbing all she could of her new faith.
Marcus had been accustomed to think of the Eirini as savage and dull of intelligence, and his months of slavery had not changed his opinion. It was therefore a surprise and a delight to debate with Judoc, as she posed questions that confounded even Felix on occasion. She believed as simply and innocently as a child, yet hungered for a deeper understanding.
In time Judoc shared with them the story of her husband, Denzel, and how his sudden death affected their son, Brenus.
“Sure, he went all of a sudden like; last winter when the snow fell fast and heavy, and the wind blew for hours until it piled the snow deep on the hillside, so deep you could not walk in it. It was then that Denzel took a daft notion in his head to venture out in search of deer, for we had eaten nothing but bread and cheese for days, and Brenus had a taste for venison stew, and aye, wouldn’t it go down well in this bitter cold? I warned him not to go: the snow was deep and there was an evil wind about, but he would not listen; he said he wanted to bring back venison for Brenus, and off he went.
“They found him two days later, his poor bo
dy frozen not more than three miles from our hut. They carried him in, all covered with snow, ice clinging even to his hair, his hand tightly gripped about his bow.
“Brenus blamed himself for his father’s death; said if he hadn’t made such a fuss about wanting venison stew Denzel would not have ventured out in the storm. I tried to comfort him, to tell him it was his father’s own daft notion that was the death of him: but Brenus would not listen to me. Full of anger he was, and given to bouts of rage. It was himself he blamed, but his bitterness had to find a way to vent itself. He did not smile from the day of his father’s death until the day that Cort befriended him, and that’s the truth.
“I expect that Dominio sent Cort here to reach out his hand to Brenus, and save him from his despair. And now I have my boy back, and for that, God be thanked and praised!”
And Judoc nodded to herself as if satisfied: Dominio worked all things out for good, and that was enough for her.
Her happy disposition endeared her to Dag’s friends, and her lilting voice and playful teasing of the great man from the wild North won their hearts. Judoc at times challenged Dag if she did not agree with him, even pecked at him at times if he did not meet her expectations on some matter. Dag was at first amazed, then amused at such treatment by the woman. Among his people a woman did what she was told without question. But so convincing were Judoc’s arguments that Dag usually complied with her wishes.
Marcus remembered one occasion with a chuckle. They had all taken a stroll in the woods one afternoon after the work of the morning was behind them. Cort and Brenus ran ahead of them, chasing squirrels, tossing twigs, and turning somersaults in sheer exuberance at the fineness of the day.
Kyrene and Judoc walked behind them arm in arm, giggling and whispering, for their bonding had been swift and strong. Elena followed behind, a pout marring her sweet, demure face. Marcus had not detected any sincere desire for friendship on her part toward Kyrene, but he had noted that Elena was of a jealous nature and did not like to be ignored.
He and Felix, and Dag and Bimo brought up the rear.
The boys ran farther and farther ahead of them until at last Judoc put her foot down.
“Brenus!” she called. “See you that you keep to the path!”
“Aye!” he called back, then proceeded to run ahead.
“Brenus!” Judoc yelled in a voice that startled everyone in its power and urgency. “Come back here! This instant!”
Brenus nodded his head, but turned giggling to Cort, who skipped ahead with him.
“And you!” Judoc wheeled around and addressed Dag. “Do you mean to tell me you let your son do as he pleases? Tell them to come back here!”
Dag merely blinked at her, and stared at her blankly. He made no attempt to comply with her request and remained where he was. This was too much for Judoc, who stomped her foot and marched back to where he stood.
“Our boys,” she spat out between her teeth, “yours and mine, are running off the path. They must come back. Do something!”
At last her seemingly unreasonable behavior struck a response from Dag and he glared at her with his nostrils flaring. For a moment he stood rooted in place like a mighty oak tree patiently bearing with the attack of a tiny woodpecker. Judoc stood and stared at him with unblinking eyes. She firmly planted her feet in front of him, hands on her hips, and eyes ablaze with indignation. Dag took one look at that small, determined face and suddenly gave in.
“Cort! Brenus!” he bellowed. “Come back here! Now!”
The boys looked back at the big man, then at each other. They shrugged and walked back to join the rest of the group.
Judoc’s eyes closed and she let out a slow breath. Marcus fancied she looked relieved, and wondered why wandering off the path had upset her so…
Yes, Marcus thought with an inward chuckle. He much preferred Judoc to Fanchon, who had outwardly adored Dag, but inwardly fumed when he did not obey her wishes; until she left him when her hidden resentment could be borne no longer.
As the days grew shorter the air grew brisker and the sense of the dying year was brought home to them when they woke one morning to the first frost of the season. Now the days would speed on to their denouement, when the trees would begin to drop their leaves and carpet the forest with a mosaic of color.
Marcus and his friends also became aware of a sense of anticipation among the villagers. A subtle excitement animated them; they were quicker to laugh and slower to anger. But what the cause was no one would say.
It was Judoc who revealed the source of their secret glee.
“Ah,” she intoned with eyes half shut when Marcus questioned her. “It is time for the Gathering. That is what excites them and lightens their hearts.”
“The Gathering?” Felix repeated. “What is that? Do you know, Marcus, since you lived among them for a while?”
Marcus shook his head, as mystified as Felix.
“I was a slave, Felix,” he remarked dryly. “And as such was hardly privy to their secrets.”
He turned to Judoc and nodded for her to proceed as he lifted one eyebrow in inquiry. The others gave her their full attention as they gathered around the fire in her small hut on this chilly evening.
Judoc looked at the fire for several moments, as if mesmerized by the dancing flames. When at last she looked away, she glanced at the faces of all in turn before she spoke.
Instead of answering Marcus’ question, she posed one in turn.
“Do you recall the day when Brenus ran off the path, and I called him back?” was her unexpected query.
“Yes,” Marcus promptly replied. “You seemed concerned beyond all reason, I thought.”
“I had good reason,” Judoc quickly responded. “For you see, they live in the wild places and we must not stray from the path.”
“They?” Felix echoed, as he glanced aside at Marcus.
Marcus hoped Felix would not mock Judoc, who was deadly earnest.
“They,” she answered without hesitation. “The Tuadan.”
“And who are the Tuadan?” Marcus coaxed her to further disclosure.
“They are the rulers of the wild places,” Judoc continued, her eyes once again riveted on the fire. “They once ruled from the heavens but they did what was forbidden and were diminished and fell to earth. There, they were banished to the hills and valleys, the trees and the fields.
“Some say they walk in the places where no man has set his foot, and they guard their domain with fierce and jealous anger, punishing the unwary. And it is they who bless the crops or curse them at their pleasure. It is not wise to stray from the paths, for there are those who have done so; and never returned.”
Even Felix did not break the silence that followed these words, such was the gravity of Judoc’s face. They waited for her to continue. After a momentary pause for reflection she continued.
“My people try to appease them so the blessing is on the crops each year. If any offend them, they blight the harvest and we starve in the winter months. So every year there is a festival in their honor, where we do them homage and ask for their blessing for the harvest.
“Yet, I cannot tell you what that festival is; for all are sworn to secrecy and the penalty is severe to any who reveal it. But you must beware not to offend those who will partake in its rites. For it is in two day’s time, on the night of the full moon of Harvest.”
Chapter XXX
The Circle
They lay concealed in the long grass that surrounded the circle of oak trees next to a hillock. It was the spot where they had passed their first night in Eirinia, and which had filled Marcus and Kyrene with such dread and horror.
Kyrene was right, Marcus mused as he lay with Felix, Dag, and Bimo in the long grass. This is a place of rituals, for it is where Judoc told us the festival would take place.
It was also, Marcus noted with a shudder, near the place where Brenus had wandered off the path and so alarmed his mother. And little wonder, for the place made Marcus bris
tle like a cat with its hackles raised. Truly, he thought, this place is horrifying.
He recalled the stories he had heard before while in Eirinia, of those creatures who walked by night to take back the land they once possessed. Marcus realized they were indeed true: for the Tuadan that Judoc spoke of were none other than the Astra, those beings fallen from their previous glory who desired to ensnare the children of Dominio in idolatry to themselves. The same Astra of whom Xenon had warned them to beware…
The moon glowed orange in a sky of ink across which clouds raced as if attempting to erase it from view. The crickets were silenced now, having succumbed to the frost, and the only sound to be heard was the clacking of branches as the gentle breeze set them striking each other. A cascade of leaves fell to earth, rustling in their descent, deadening the footsteps of anyone, or anything, that might approach them.
They had crept out of Cadeyrn’s hut once they were assured that all were asleep; for it was evident that Cadeyrn and his family were not some of those who joined in this ritual. That privilege, Judoc had told them, was reserved for those advanced in knowledge of the secret rites, and spoke the tongue of the Tuadan, having learned it from their fathers, who passed it down before them. Their leader wore a gold circlet around his neck, symbol of his supremacy in the knowledge of the secret rites.
They had made their way in silence and stealth, not daring to risk even one word, lest their presence be given away. They followed the directions of Judoc, who knew of a shortcut which would grant them time to conceal themselves from the celebrants before they arrived.
They had not long to wait.
The silence was broken by the rustle of the grass as the villagers made their way to their secret site. Looking neither to the right or left they walked in single file, their tongues silent in reverence, garbed in long brown robes that brushed the earth with each movement.