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

by Adam Copeland

  “No,” Candace replied distantly, tiredly. “She went to the flowers.”

  “Where is that?” Aimeé asked, exchanging a glance with Katherina.

  Candace shrugged, though her vacant gaze did not waver. “Flowers. Pink. That is what I see.”

  She rolled over and her breath deepened. Now she really did sleep.

  “Pink...” Aimeé murmured, then looked up excitedly. “I think I know where she is!”

  “Where?” Katherina asked.

  “The garden, near the fountain,” Aimeé answered, rising from Candace’s bedside. “There is a cherry grove. They’ve been blooming since the council started.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Katherina rose as well and they hurried from the dormitory. A quick descent of the stairs led them to the Fairy Room and the exit.

  When they opened the door, however, they met a rude surprise.

  “Back to bed!” A guard in yellow and crimson surcoat barked at them.

  “What are you doing here? Where are the Avangarde?” Katherina asked, indignant.

  He barked again in bad French, thickly laced with an Italian accent. “Back to bed! Monster on loose!”

  “I beg your pardon, do you know who I am?” Katherina glared at the man.

  “Do you know who cardinal is?” the brute responded, reaching in to grab the door handle and slam it shut.

  “What is going on?” Aimeé said, staring at the closed door.

  “I don’t know,” Katherina responded, almost kicking the door. She crossed her arms hard, thinking better of bruising her foot. “But we have to get to the garden and find Chansonne before anyone else does... or the monster.”

  “I have an idea,” Aimeé said and raced off down a corridor.

  Katherina followed the maidservant to a room filled with baskets and bed linens.

  “I didn’t even know this room was here.”

  “Why would you, princess?” Aimeé said, bending to retrieve several sheets. “This is where we collect the bedding.”

  Katherina made a face, not sure if Aimeé was being sarcastic. She watched the French girl knot several sheets together and then tie one end to a brazier. After that, Aimeé mounted the sill and pushed open the shutters on the room’s sole window.

  “It is only a short drop from here, then we can cross the practice field and sneak into the garden.” Aimeé moved to squeeze through the window.

  “Aimeé,” Katherina almost cried, touching her hand to her mouth. “The baby.”

  Aimeé placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at the princess. “Look, I’m not a delicate flower. I’m far enough along that things are ‘well anchored.’” She palmed either side of her stomach for emphasis. “We must hurry.”

  Aimeé threw a leg over the sill and slipped down the makeshift rope.

  Katherina fumbled her way down the knotted sheets, finding it difficult to do in her dress, but the distance to the ground proved only a long jump at most. The only difficulty occurred when she landed on Aimeé’s shoulders, causing a moment of comical confusion.

  #

  Once disentangled and with feet firmly on the ground on the outside of the Hall for Lady Guests, they prepared to run straight for the garden, but the clank of arms and armor alerted them to approaching soldiers.

  Despite the late hour and a low-lying mist, the moonlight shown from a clear night sky. They gasped and ducked, thinking themselves already discovered. But the clanking continued at an unhurried pace, and they relaxed. From their position they watched a large group of Cardinal Guard march through the shifting mist. They filed from the main keep, splitting into two groups, one entering the Hall for Lady Guests and the other continuing into the darkness towards the Hall for Guests.

  “I’m not liking the look of this,” Aimeé whispered. “They must mean to turn every room inside out.”

  Katherina wondered in a concerned tone. “Where are all the Avangarde?”

  Aimeé shook her head silently, and once the last soldier disappeared, urged the princess to follow her. She took them by a route that would avoid the soldiers, though she would have to enter the garden from still another direction if more soldiers should appear. To that end, Aimeé led them to a servant’s entrance and a dark little room smelling of herbs and spices.

  “We’re not far from the great hall, and from there we can enter the garden from within without notice,” Aimeé explained.

  She peeked through a door on the far side of the room, and satisfied, she opened it. They darted down a corridor to the kitchen. Normally alive with activity, the large room now struck her as strange and ominous in the quiet darkness. She and Katherina made their way across the flagstones to a pair of double doors that would lead them to the great hall. Before they could reach them, however, Aimeé tensed. Before she knew what she was doing, she tackled Katherina to the floor and held her prone under a workbench.

  She started to protest angrily, especially when Aimeé roughly put her hand over her mouth, but Katherina froze when the double doors burst open and a half-dozen men entered.

  From their vantage they could only see their legs, but the women recognized the voices. “We’re wasting our time here,” Dragonetti growled, “the kitchen is obviously empty.”

  “Search it, anyway,” Victor’s voice responded smooth as silk. “Leave no pot or pan unturned. She’s a clever child and could be hiding anywhere and we haven’t much time. The Avangarde will return when they realize the reports of the monster chasing Chansonne through the countryside are fabricated.”

  “But some of the men say they’ve actually seen something huge flying above the garden,” Dragonetti admitted.

  Katherina felt Aimeé tense at the words. An odd pause hung in the air after the statement, and Katherina wished she could see Victor’s face to help explain it.

  “Well then, all the more reason to hurry,” he said cooly. “Any news from the units searching the Guest residences?”

  “The Guests are annoyed, but no little girl yet,” Dragonetti replied.

  “Very well, carry on. Once done here, move into the classrooms.” Victor’s slippered feet turned and exited. The boots of the Cardinal Guard moved deeper into the kitchen, followed by the clamor of utensils and pots emptied from cupboards in an angry cacophony.

  Katherina squirmed under Aimeé’s grip and she urged them to move on. Aimeé relinquished her hold and led them in a crawl along the floor away from the noise. They exited a small side door, entering the great hall at one corner. The arches to the garden opened only a few feet away. Patches of moonlight bathed the patio stones like shimmering, fallen leaves.

  “I’m not so sure this is such a good idea now,” Aimeé whispered, wringing her hands. She cast a furtive glance toward the forest of bushes, trees, and tall reedy plants that seethed with menacing shadows in the moonlight. “If it’s true what that guard said about the monster flying about, perhaps we should wait for the Avangarde. Maybe if we find Patrick, we can still find Chansonne first and keep it a secret...”

  “Under any other circumstance I would have agreed with you,” Katherina replied, surprised at Aimeé’s sudden change in demeanor. Aimeé had pushed her along until now, almost to the point of annoyance. “But you can’t forget: Even if Patrick removed that ‘stick-of-duty’ from his backside and agreed to keep this all a secret, there is no time. Chansonne needs us now.”

  As if to punctuate this, the crash of pots and pans thrown about the kitchen rang nearer and now they could hear a ruckus coming from the upper windows of the keep. Voices of complaint floated down to them, as well as a pillow and some bedding thrown from a window.

  Aimeé managed to chuckle. “I dare say your description of a stick up Patrick’s arse is rather accurate. I had no idea you had a sense of humor.”

  Katherina grinned and headed for the garden, but paused and turned to Aimeé.

  “Aimeé,” she said, “I feel I must apologize.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.
I’ve treated you poorly,” Katherina confessed. “You’re right, you’re not a delicate flower. You’re not a victim. I’ve been treating you like one and I’m sorry. And I must admit I’m...” She searched for proper words as her expression slid along a range of emotions. “I’m conflicted... over the possibility the child might be Patrick’s. Though he and I are truly just friends, I still wonder about lost possibilities, and I think I’ve been secretly blaming you for that. I am wrong to do so. You are a strong woman and I admire you for that and I wish you and Patrick the best.”

  Aimeé stood with mouth agape. “Well,” she stammered, “thank you. As for Patrick, that remains very much to be seen.”

  “I wish you would give him a chance. He is a good man,” Katherina implored.

  “You mean he is the best I’ll ever do,” Aimeé returned, an angry line creasing her brow.

  “Not what I meant.” Katherina wrung her hands into knots.

  Aimeé came forward and took Katherina by the hand and led her toward the garden. She kissed her gently on the cheek and embraced her. “I know what you meant. I guess I’ve reacted poorly to your treatment, and therefore it’s my turn to apologize. Let us not talk of such things any more, and instead find us our lost child. Monsters, cardinals, and the stick in Patrick’s arse all be damned!”

  #

  It did not take them long to reach the fountain and the blooming cherry trees, but they found no Chansonne.

  “If she’s hiding, it only makes sense she wouldn’t be out in the open,” Aimeé reasoned. Katherina agreed and they poked around the bushes nearest the circular path about the fountain.

  “Wait, do you hear that?” Aimeé asked, straightening.

  Just barely over the gurgling water, there was the faint sound of sobs.

  They followed the sound, ducking underneath the branches of the trees, causing blossoms to fall like snow. In the small grove they found no one, but near the center of the expansive garden, they found her small form curled up on the manicured sward.

  She must have heard them coming, for her sobs abruptly stopped and she looked up, ready to bolt like a frightened animal.

  Katherina put a finger to her lips. “Shh,” she cooed to the girl, “you’re safe.”

  Chansonne’s tense form relaxed, and she allowed the women to join her on the grass.

  “Chansonne, you must come with us,” Katherina reasoned. She thought of Sister Abigail’s fears of Chansonne’s voice and of her impulsive nature.

  Chansonne shook her head violently and her eyes grew to giant proportions.

  “We won’t let that bad old man take you,” Aimeé added. “We’ll hide you, but Katherina is right, you can’t stay here. It is only a matter of time before they look here.”

  Again Chansonne shook her head.

  From their current position, the keep walls peeked over the tops of the garden’s trees and hedges. If someone were to walk the top of the battlements and look down, Chansonne was in plain view.

  Worse, voices from the keep floated through the air. Katherina caught a few words; the Cardinal Guard’s search was making its way through the building. Soon they would move to the garden.

  Chansonne must have intuited this, for she clung to Katherina.

  “Please, Chansonne...” she started to say, but a cooking pot clanged inside the great hall. Apparently the Cardinal Guard had finished their search in the kitchen.

  Chansonne’s hands dug painfully into Katherina’s arms and her eyes grew bigger than ever. Her usual nondescript grunts of distress turned to an escalating keening. A pain like a pinprick attacked Katherina’s inner ear and she saw Aimeé grimace. Katherina gently tried to soothe Chansonne, but her voice betrayed her rising concern.

  “Chansonne, remember when we sing in the auditorium? Songs are most beautiful when sung correctly, yes? We control our voices. We don’t let our voices control us.”

  The keening intensified and the pinprick in Katherina’s ear turned to a jabbing knife. Chansonne’s eyes scanned the foliage separating them from the keep.

  “Remember the Shrugging Giants?” Katherina asserted. “Remember how Emilie controlled her voice? She made it do what she wanted. You can do that right now.”

  Katherina desperately wanted to cover her ears, but Chansonne’s iron grip pinned her arms down. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut. The pain in her ears and the out-of-control pounding of Chansonne’s heart against her bosom were overwhelming.

  Just when she didn’t think she could take the pain anymore, a gentle music interrupted the keening and Chansonne stopped.

  Katherina opened her eyes and saw Aimeé holding her crucifix to her mouth, fingers fumbling along the tiny holes as she blew in one end. The little flute played the tune from the Shrugging Giants. Chansonne listened, fascinated by the sound.

  Then a wondrous thing happened.

  The stars themselves seemed to descend upon the sward, bobbing among the blades of grass, the trees, and shrubs. Ten thousand motes of light surrounded them, shimmering with every hue of color. A hum filled the air, roughly mimicking the flute music. The lights swirled and danced to the tune.

  “What are they?” Katherina asked in wonder, holding a graceful arm out so the little creatures would alight there.

  A group of them danced around Aimeé’s stomach, their hum turning into a happy squeal. Another group formed a tiara around Chansonne’s head.

  One of them fluttered to Aimeé’s face, growing when it did.

  It turned into a little winged girl, held aloft by a pair of furiously beating gossamer dragonfly wings. A dimpled smile beamed from a sharp-featured face and a tiny mop of yellow hair brushed the girl’s long lashes.

  “Fairies,” Aimeé gasped.

  The spindly creature swooped over to Aimeé’s ear and hummed loudly.

  “What’s that?” Aimeé asked, frowning and tilting her head to one side to hear better. “Call for help? I suppose so, but I was just trying to make the peaceful music. The healing music.”

  The little fairy girl put hands to her mouth and made a laugh like tiny chimes.

  Aimeé still held the flute suspended before her mouth and the fairy swooped down and danced along the holes. She did this repeatedly, tiny feet stepping in the same rhythmic pattern.

  “Oh!” Aimeé cried and put the flute to her lips.

  She blew and her fingers moved among the holes. The new tune was sweeter and more melodic than before. The fairy girl grinned hugely, but then her attention snapped to one side. The field of lights shifted in the same direction and the collective hum stopped.

  “Over here!” a man’s voice called. “I heard the sound this way!”

  Aimeé stopped playing and Chansonne gasped, renewing her iron grip on Katherina. The sea of lights coalesced around the trio, making an obscuring mist of living lights.

  At the edge of the little glade a man stumbled from the cherry grove, swatting at the multitude of lights like a man walking into a bee swarm. He stumbled towards the girls, and Chansonne tensed, a noise coming from her throat. The fairy who had talked to Aimeé, however, buzzed before Chansonne’s face and put a finger to her lips with a mischievous grin. Chansonne calmed and the fairy shot off, turning back into a little mote of light.

  She attacked the man’s head, causing him to swat even more furiously. Other fairies joined in, turning into a swarm of fireflies. The man stumbled within feet of the women, revealing himself to be Dragonetti, but his eyes remained squeezed shut and within moments he had stumbled completely out of the glade.

  “Over here!” another voice called. “I hear something over here!”

  The outline of lights that clung to Dragonetti made it possible for them to see him run in the direction of the other voice.

  “Good,” Dragonetti grumbled. “Nothing but bugs over here!”

  He faded from view.

  The girls let out a breath they hadn’t realized they had been holding.

  A miniature shooting star shot from the tre
es and came to Aimeé, growing back into the helpful fairy. She buzzed about Aimeé’s ear.

  “Yes, thank you Talia!” Aimeé cried.

  The fairy girl kissed Aimeé on the cheek, then gave one to Chansonne and Katherina before darting off into the darkness, trailing a comet’s tail of fellow lights.

  “Well, I never,” Katherina breathed.

  “We should go,” Aimeé said, “The fairy, Talia, says they drew the soldiers away with their own singing, but she doesn’t know how long they will fall for it.”

  Chansonne shook her head furiously, curling up next to Katherina in the grass.

  “What is that business with the flute?” Katherina asked, brow crinkling at the instrument. “I daresay it averted disaster.”

  “Patrick’s mother said the music soothes people,” Aimeé explained, looking at the flute as if for the first time. “It puts people into a peaceful state, making it possible for them to heal wounds of the mind and spirit.” She squeezed her hand around the instrument. “But only when you use the correct tune. No wonder it hasn’t helped Patrick. The tune I’ve been using is a call for help, and that’s exactly what he’s been doing: trying to save me—even if means pushing me away.”

  Katherina stroked Chansonne’s hair. “Chansonne could use some healing of the spirit. How long has she been carrying her guilt around, I wonder?”

  Aimeé’s eyes brightened and she put the flute to her lips and played.

  The melody surrounded and comforted them as if the cloud of fairies were still there. Chansonne’s head turned in Katherina’s lap, all her attention bent toward the music. After some minutes, her pounding heart softened and an icy fist behind her eyes slowly released, allowing peace to slowly cross her face. Her eyes closed halfway.

  Aimeé stopped and smiled when she felt she had done all she could and whispered, “We should go.”

  Chansonne startled at the suggestion and reached up and pulled Aimeé down to the grass with her. She did the same to Katherina and pulled their arms across her like a protective web.

  “In a bit,” Katherina suggested, “just a bit.”