Ripples in the Chalice: A Tale of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 2)

by Adam Copeland

  Aimeé found the family conversations boisterous, including frequent heated discussions. Talisia kept things from truly getting out of hand, but her brood still managed to throw food at one another.

  Naturally Patrick and his news received most of the attention those first few nights. As he had mentioned earlier, they had to amend their story. The story he told was largely true, but with enough alterations to maintain the secrecy of Avalon and Greensprings. Patrick told his family they both served in a castle in the land of the Angles where Patrick battled and defeated a nobleman who had been trying to usurp the authority of the castle and lands. Having proven himself in battle, Patrick petitioned the lord of the castle for leave from his duties to visit his family.

  Patrick told how he had thrashed a fellow knight who had assaulted Aimeé. When he did, she waited for him to elaborate on their relationship, but either he did not elaborate or she lost it in translation.

  When that happened, the hint of a shadow crept into her soul. Little things that had troubled her grew larger in her mind. Was he more distant since his odd behavior after the bandit attack? Was he a little too quick to agree to his pious mother’s insistence they sleep apart in the household? Yes, ever since his last adventures in Avalon, Patrick himself had become more pious. He prayed regularly and lived the life of a true Christian knight, which meant he limited how he expressed his physical affections for her, but recently even his kisses and touches felt faraway.

  You’re just being silly, she told herself. After all, did he not bring me to his homeland to meet his family? What more should I expect from someone whose strength is not speaking his heart’s desires?

  Even as she told herself this, her stomach turned, but she did her best to attribute it to the new food and the lingering seasickness. Even so, one evening she ran behind the manor to the privy and became violently ill.

  When she had finished and turned to leave, she came face to face with Talisia, who watched her with concern.

  Talisia touched her brow with the back of her hand, and did that odd thing where she touched her stomach. Upon doing so, Talisia’s luminous eyes flared slightly in the dark. She led Aimeé back to the kitchen and prepared her a soothing tea. Beatrix entered and she and Talisia spoke some.

  “She was concerned you had the sickness,” Beatrix explained after Talisia left the room. “A year ago, a terrible illness swept through the land and made many a widow and orphan. Shannon is still recovering from it.”

  Aimeé gasped. “Do I have it?”

  “No, you are not sick,” Beatrix replied, but would not elaborate and bid her goodnight.

  Days later, she and Beatrix sat on a hill having a blanket lunch while watching the men shear sheep. Even though a long-lost son, Patrick did not escape family duties. He, Sian, Domhnull, and even little Conor worked shirtless in the hot sun with the shepherds.

  “So our Patrick is a true knight now,” Beatrix mused out loud. “We had our doubts.”

  This surprised Aimeé, who asked, “Why is that?”

  Beatrix shrugged. “There are no lack of warriors about, but to go through all the training to be dubbed a knight, the expense of it all, plus to find someone who is willing to squire you in this area—it is very difficult. But Patrick was determined to make it happen. He proved us all wrong.”

  “If few people do it in these parts, what drove him?” Aimeé asked.

  “Patrick is the third son and not likely to inherit much,” Beatrix explained. “Patrick’s options, like all younger sons, were limited. He chose to become a knight, to have a skilled profession, and find his own way in the world. His Uncle James, Shannon’s brother, is a knight and squired him as a lad. After many hard years, he finished his training and service and was dubbed a knight. It was the happiest day of his life, until...”

  Her voice trailed off and she picked at the grass, avoiding eye contact with the French girl. Aimeé waited patiently for her to pick up with the story.

  “Until his love put him aside. Patrick was convinced once he proved himself a knight, the girl of his dreams would agree to marry him. She agreed at first, but then said she wanted to devote her life to God, to become a nun and enter convent. Brokenhearted, Patrick respected her wishes.”

  “Then she changed her mind and married another,” Aimeé finished, familiar with the basics of the story.

  “Aye,” Beatrix nodded. “Not long after that, a missionary came to town, ringing a bell and proclaiming the pope in Rome had declared a Crusade to oust the heathens from Jerusalem. Patrick wasted no time heeding the call. We thought we would never see him again, but there he is, alive and whole.”

  “His body is whole,” Aimeé said after a long pause, “but his heart is still troubled. He... won’t talk about it. He has nightmares.”

  “And it eats him from the inside out,” Beatrix added, nodding. “He was always that way. Too strong for his own good. Sian is the same way, but tries to bluster his way through things whereas Patrick merely endures in silence.”

  “Why do we put up with such things?” Aimeé asked, a quiet frustration in her voice.

  Beatrix rubbed her shoulder. “Because we love them.”

  Aimeé took her hand and squeezed it, thankful for her presence.

  Beatrix squeezed her hand back. “Be of good cheer. He is out of harm’s way, has patronage and protection in an English lord’s castle, and is a knight and a hero who rescues maidens.”

  Despite her words of encouragement, Aimeé still felt a shadow upon her soul.

  “Beatrix, you know as well as I that I am a maidservant, and no maiden,” Aimeé said. “The story he told—about the knight insulting me—it was worse than that. Though it was incredibly pleasing to know he thrashed my assailant in the keep courtyard in front of God and everyone, it happened... after the fact.”

  Beatrix gave her a knowing nod, and her face was sad. “No matter, he must care for you very much to have done that, and to bring you all this way.”

  Yes, but was it out of guilt? Aimeé thought, tendrils of doubt spreading in her gut, then added out loud, “Just the same, I wish he would tell me so.”

  “Sian is the same way. They are very much alike, those two, though they don't always want to admit it. They are men of action. They do, they don't just talk about it, and Patrick is more reserved than most. He cares for you, I can tell.”

  But how much? The tendrils spread.

  Aimeé shook herself, put on a smile, and decided to change the subject to lighten the mood. “And Sian, how did you meet?”

  Beatrix smiled broadly.

  "Well, he did no heroics, after the fact or otherwise,” Beatrix explained, “but he did show up larger than life. He was loud and boisterous and made me laugh. That is all I needed to be swept off my feet. My father is a Breton merchant. From Brittany, to Cornwall, to Limerick, to Galway he traded timber and wine for wool and metals. The Gawain family is one of what they call the ‘Tribes of Galway,’ the merchants’ guild operating out of the trading post on the coast, at the mouth of the River Corrib.” Aimeé remembered the first village at which they arrived when first coming to the shores of Eire.

  “It was his turn to negotiate with the ship captains. I was with my father on my first trip. Sian fell in love instantly. Me, not so much. But he persisted, serenading me from the shore every night until I gave in, came off the ship, and went walking with him.... chaperoned, of course.”

  “Sian? Singing romantically?” Aimeé said, trying hard to picture the big man doing such a thing.

  Beatrix nodded vigorously. “He’s actually quite good.”

  Just then, Mayana and Maria who had been playing nearby came running over and exclaimed, “Look, maman! A rainbow! Can we go look for the pot of gold?”

  Beatrix’s brow furrowed. “Absolutely not. Never go chasing rainbows, you hear me? The Fairy Folk put their treasure at the end of rainbows for a reason... so you’ll foolishly chase after it and be led astray. You can never catch a rainbow. The harde
r you try, the further you get from home, and the next thing you know you’re lost and at the mercy of the Fairy Folk who’ll exact a dear price from you. Instead of finding treasure, you’ll find you’re giving up your own as a ransom.”

  As a shiver came over Aimeé as she contemplated the idea of chasing beautiful yet unattainable things, Beatrix pulled her children down to the blanket and hugged them to her bosom.

  “Not all Fairy Folk are bad,” Mayana said as she turned over to lay her head on her mother’s lap.

  Maria did likewise. “Uncle Donnie is a gruagach, and he is not bad. We like him. He plays with us.”

  Beatrix snorted a laugh. “Who told you such a thing?”

  “Daddy,” the girls said as if it were the most obvious of answers.

  “Gru-gie?” Aimeé asked, trying her best to pronounce the word correctly.

  Beatrix laughed. “A gruagach is a kind of fairy who does manual labor and other basic things; they are not of the royal caste. They’re more like a goblin of sorts. Leave it to my husband to tell his children their Uncle Domhnull is a goblin.”

  “Daddy also says he’s a changeling,” Maria added.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Beatrix shook her head in exasperation.

  “Changeling?” Aimeé made a questioning face.

  “Another sort of fairy tale,” Beatrix offered. “It is said that malicious fairy folk will replace a human newborn with a magic rock. The rock grows into a child, but it is dull-witted and a burden to the family, while the real baby is a slave back in the Otherworld. Again, you can tell my husband likes to entertain his children at his brother’s expense. These Irish are especially disturbed by changelings.

  “Your Uncle Donnie is not a changeling. You can spot a changeling a mile away,” she said in all seriousness to her children. “They are round of eye, slack of jaw and have webbed hands and feet.”

  “But he is a gruagach, then?” they persisted.

  “There may be some truth to that.” Beatrix rolled her eyes. She addressed Aimeé while picking at the grass and leaves in the tangled mat of her girls’ hair. “He is a peculiar sort who prefers the wilds to the house. The girls love their Uncle Donnie and he often brings them home dirtier than when they left. I’m afraid someday he is going to take them into the wilds and never come back.”

  Beatrix hugged the girls tighter. Aimeé sensed a hint of seriousness in her voice.

  “Grandmère Talisia is no gruagach,” Maria said proudly. “She’s Daoine Sidhe. She’s a fairy princess.”

  Aimeé smiled at the innocent sweetness of the children.

  Then Beatrix surprised her by saying, “No, it’s true.”

  “Tell us the story, maman,” Mayana pleaded. “Tell us the story of grandpère and grandmère.”

  “Oh very well,” she said and Aimeé listened intently, curious.

  “Long ago before you were born,” Beatrix began, “indeed, before your dadda was born and your grandpère Shannon was a young man, he went a-hunting with his brother James in the misty mountains where they meet the great River Shannon, after which he is named. He became lost, separated from Grand-Uncle James. The dark fairy folk, the drow, and every spiteful pixie and sprite led him astray with the intent of leading him in circles until starved or frozen to death. But Shannon knelt at the river’s edge and prayed to the Christian God. And lo and behold, Talisia came out of the water...”

  “‘...naked as a newborn babe!’” the red headed children said together, giggling.

  “Yes, she heard Shannon praying, and came from the fairy world under the water, drawn by his words. She asked, ‘To what god is this you pray? I’ve never heard such words. Tell me more.’ Now, the last thing Shannon thought to see in the wilderness was a beautiful naked woman, so naturally he thought the evil fairy folk were playing a trick on him. But Talisia persisted, wanting to learn more about this Christian God. So Shannon told her what he could, but then said, ‘Guide me out of here, and I will tell you about His son, as well.’ She agreed. Shannon put his cloak about her and she led him out of the wilderness. He took her home to a priest who also thought it was a trick, but she asked so many questions and learned so fast. She learned all the prayers—and in Latin no less—and then became baptized. She married Shannon, had many beautiful children...”

  “...and they lived happily ever after!” the girls added.

  “Well, it’s mostly true,” Beatrix said, noting Aimeé’s incredulous look. “Shannon Gawain did bring home a strange, beautiful woman one day from a hunting trip. Her language was different, she knew very little of the ways of the common folk, and she had an insatiable appetite to learn all things, especially about God. The priest was a superstitious sort, even more so than the people, and put her to many tests before becoming convinced she was as human as the rest of us. Even to this day, Talisia goes out of her way to know more than the average person about scripture, and I dare say she spends more time in that church praying than Father Peter does. All this she does to ensure her children are not perceived as demon spawn. She even tried directing Patrick toward the priesthood, teaching him scripture and letters in Latin. Well, we know how that turned out.”

  Aimeé shook her head, surprised at the revelation and even more surprised Patrick hadn’t said anything. She knew he could read and write, rare skills, but he had never explained why. He often hid the fact as he felt it would alienate him from the brotherhood of knights, who were largely illiterate.

  “Surely, she is merely a foreigner like you or me,” Aimeé said.

  Beatrix chewed on her lip thoughtfully, saying, “Her language was different, but still of Eire. The old timers say it was a form of ancient Irish, and she said her tribe was the Tuatha, which simply means ‘The People.’ Shannon finally convinced Father Peter she was just from a secluded tribe, hidden away in the mountains. But then came the wedding, and that only started the fairy rumors again.”

  “Why’s that?” Aimeé asked.

  “Her people came for the ceremony alright, but they were a strange sort. Half were tall and willowy like Patrick, with Talisia’s blazing eyes. Their clothes appeared to be spun from fine metal wire with the symbols you see everywhere on the stones about Eire. Their weapons were of the finest craftsmanship. They were no country bumpkins from some hidden village in the mountains. The other half, you could believe were from a primitive tribe. They wore animal skins, and their weapons were made from shaped flint. They were short, dark and weathered. It sounds like they were more like Domhnull in appearance. They were a quiet bunch, so I’m told. They were very sad to see Talisia marry an outsider, and even sadder to see her take up a foreign god, but they respected her wishes, kissed her goodbye, and haven’t been seen since. Even so, Talisia has had to endure much to convince the community she is no evil fairy bent on harm.”

  “They think she’s a selkie,” Mayana explained.

  “A water spirit who appears as a seal, but turns into a woman on land,” Beatrix answered the confused look on Aimeé’s face. “They marry mortal men, have their babies, then take them back to the water with them.”

  “Now you tell us story, Aimeé,” the children pleaded.

  “Me?” she said, not sure what to say.

  “Yes! Story! Story!”

  After a moment of gathering her thoughts she said, “How would you like to hear a story about your Uncle Patrick?”

  “Yes!”

  “Very well, then,” Aimeé began. “You know your uncle is a knight, right?”

  The girls nodded eagerly. “Well, what you may not know is he is a knight of the Isle of Avalon, do you know where that is?”

  “It’s where King Arthur went after his last battle,” Mayana said.

  Maria added, “And where the Lady of the Lake comes from. She gave him his magical sword, Excalibur.”

  “Very good!” Aimeé said. “Patrick is a knight sworn to protect a castle on Avalon that is full of lords and ladies, and he’s sworn to protect the secrets of the isle. In fact,
I shouldn’t even be telling you any of this, but because you’re his nieces, I guess there’s no harm.”

  The girls giggled.

  “One day,” Aimeé continued with a flourish of her hands and wide eyes, “an evil lord came to Avalon, seeking the secrets of the isle so he could rule the world. Little did anyone know, but this lord was actually the trickster god, Loki, in disguise...”

  Aimeé proceeded to recount how Loki had used Avalon’s secrets to access the realm of Faerie, kidnapped a princess in the process, and how Patrick had been the lone knight capable of pursuing him.

  “It was I who spied Loki in the distance running away with the princess,” she explained. “I went to Patrick to tell him what had happened, but just as I did, Loki’s servant shot me in the back with a crossbow bolt, right here.” Aimeé turned slightly on the blanket and pointed to a spot on her back, her finger making a circle in the wool of her dress.

  Aimeé finished the story of how she had died, how Patrick had entered into Faerie to defeat the dark lord and rescue the princess, and how he had brought back a magic cup and used it to bring her back to life.

  The girls clapped their hands.

  “You must be much more beautiful than the princess,” Maria said, “for Uncle Patrick to pick you over her.”

  “Oh, trust me, he struggled over it, but eventually he made the right choice.” Aimeé did her best to laugh at her own words, but it came out nervously.

  “Avalon?” Beatrix said. “You have a gift for storytelling.”

  “My manner, or my content?” Aimeé asked.

  Beatrix responded, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Both, but more so the content, I think.”

  The girls rose from the blanket to tackle her and shout, “Play! Come play with us!”

  Aimeé laughed in mock protests as one pulled on her arms while the other pushed from behind. In the process, the collar of her dress momentarily slipped down her back to reveal a terrible round scar.

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