Triskelion

by Avril Borthiry

  Weylin smiled. “Absolutely. I've always suspected that Afallon is not so much a place, but more a state of being.”

  “I don't understand.” She rubbed her temple. “It seems there is much I don't understand. Perhaps I'm not suited to this ability.”

  “Suited? My dear child, we are not discussing an item of clothing. This ability is part of who you are and, in truth, goes way beyond your visions of what is to come. Your gift of foresight is unquestionably remarkable. By itself, however, it is not unique. There have been others – nay, there are yet others with similar abilities who live among us.” Weylin tucked her hand into his arm again as they walked on. “It's what you've acquired since the ceremony that sets you apart from the rest.”

  “Forgive me, my lord, but yet again, I don't know what you mean. I do know I'd rather be without this ability. It has brought naught but suffering to me and those I love. Elric said I could not be rid of it – that I would learn to control it. He said I possessed the gift. It did not possess me.”

  “I agree with him.” Weylin directed his gaze over the sea, where the distant outline of the English coast was emerging from the darkness. “How can I make you understand the value of what you have?”

  You have no idea of your true worth...

  Elric's words strayed into her mind. Kate swallowed, trying to dislodge a sob that felt like a pebble in her throat. She followed Weylin's gaze across the sea, aware of the savage roar of waves crashing onto the rocks below.

  This wild, lonely place was well chosen, she thought, by a man whose life had been empty of companionship. It had now become his grave and, in a sad twist of fate, his companion in death was the least worthy of all.

  A sense of injustice clawed at her spirit.

  “Owen told me of the prophecy,” she said, thrusting the sad images aside, “although I already had an impression that the gift was...ancient somehow; that it had come to me from the distant past. I'm still not certain what it means, though. I only know I was meant to save...” Her voice caught. But I didn't save him, did I? “I was meant to...to help Elric.”

  She heard Weylin's soft sigh and turned to meet his worried gaze, forcing a smile to her lips. He returned it, but the concern remained in his eyes as he spoke.

  “Yes, the origins of your gifts are indeed very ancient. Your mother, God rest her soul, had a touch that could cool a fever, or cleanse the body of disease. I once saw her breathe life into a child; a small boy who had drowned. Elric was witness to that too, as I recall. Your father, of course, has full knowledge of her healing power, for it saved his life.” He examined her palm again, stroking the outline of the Triskelion with his thumb. “You also have an ability to heal, but I believe it transcends physical ailments. I suspect it can lift the darkness from people's lives and ease the torment of a troubled mind. There is yet much to learn about how it works, but such an ability, Katherine, cannot be ignored.”

  She nodded, feigning another smile. “As you say, my lord, there is much to learn.” And I have lost my teacher. “It's...overwhelming.”

  Silence stretched over several moments, in which Kate had the distinct impression of being appraised.

  “You mourn him,” said Weylin, at last. It was neither question nor accusation.

  Even so, Kate shook her head, preparing a denial, but the fallacious response drowned in a wave of reality. She squeezed her eyes shut, and looked inward to where the truth lay.

  God help me. My grief exists as surely as the air in my lungs. So does my guilt. Why am I fighting?

  She found her voice and opened her eyes.

  “Elric hired mercenaries to abduct me from my home. He drugged me, manipulated my mind, and threatened me. He killed the prior without a second thought. He tried to kill my father – Heaven forbid, he may yet have done so – and he would have shown no mercy to Owen, but by God and all His saints...” she hiccupped on a sob and allowed her tears their freedom at last, “...by God and all His saints, my lord, I cannot come to terms with his death. It's like someone has reached beneath my ribs and torn away part of my heart. Yet I can't fathom why that should be. 'Tis surely wrong to grieve for a man who...who...”

  “Who connected with you on a level beyond mortal understanding?” Weylin shook his head. “Your guilt is unfounded, Katherine. That you grieve for Elric says much about your awareness of his spirit. You recognized something in him that others, including myself, did not. Any shame, then, is surely mine, and may God forgive me my failings. Weep for him, child, if it eases your pain. It's the honest thing to do.”

  The mournful cry of a gull drew Kate's gaze skyward. For a moment she was taken back to Wraysholme's shore and the day she met Owen. Little more than a week had passed, but it seemed much longer.

  “I feel like I've lived my life as someone else,” she said, wiping tears from her cheeks. “I fear Owen might not understand this new person – why she did what she did for Elric, or why she mourns the death of a man who has caused so much harm.”

  Weylin sighed. “Owen has no conditions on his heart where you're concerned, child. He loves you very much.” He softened his voice. “And he's well acquainted with grief.”

  Hearing the sadness in his words, Kate turned questioning eyes back to him. “What do you mean?”

  “Owen's father died at Furness Abbey the night before you were taken. Madoc had been ill for some time, and had retreated there to make his peace with God. That's also when Owen learned of the threat to your safety. He didn't even stay for his father's burial, but rushed back to Wraysholme to warn you and Sir John. He blames himself for not being there in time to save you.”

  Kate's stomach clenched. “I had no idea. He never...he never mentioned...”

  Guilt and grief.

  “That's right.” Weylin voiced Kate's unspoken words. “You each share similar burdens.”

  Startled by the accuracy of his insight, Kate's eyes widened.

  “Oh, no.” He chuckled and patted her shoulder. “I can perhaps reach your mind, but I can't read it. Your thoughts, in that instance, were written plainly on your face. That said, I do have a proposal for you. I've no doubt you'll return to Wraysholme with your father as soon as he's able to travel. But, once he's fully recovered, I wonder if you might consider returning to Rushen. I'd be honoured to work with you, to continue what Elric began, to teach and guide you without the use of fear or manipulation. I suspect, in doing so, I shall also be taught. Would you consider such an arrangement?”

  Kate sniffed. “I would, with gratitude, only...”

  Weylin raised a brow. “Only?”

  “Not something a visionary should admit, perhaps, but I'm not certain what my future holds. There are questions still to be answered. Before all this happened, I was betrothed to Edgar. I'm not sure if that agreement still stands. Owen has not yet spoken of it. Do you happen to know anything?”

  “Well, now.” Weylin donned a bemused expression and gave his beard a gentle tug. “I only recall speaking with two men who were keen to embark on the rescue of Adela's child. Neither one of them was named Edgar. Besides, one does not need to be a visionary to see that Owen will be very much a part of your future.”

  The playfulness in his tone eased a genuine smile from her. “I pray that Papa agrees with you.”

  “Why in Heaven's good name would he not?”

  “Because of Owen's status. He has neither land nor title.”

  “Neither did your mother.” Weylin's eyes assumed a warm twinkle. “Your father married for love, Katherine. He'll not deny you the same privilege. Not now. Of that I'm certain. And Owen has more than proven his love for you over the past week.”

  “He's been in my dreams for much longer than that.” Kate cast an anxious glance toward the kirk, its stark stones softened by the rosy glow of dawn. “What's taking them so long? You don't think –”

  A shout from the ruins interrupted her. Kate snatched a breath and held it as Lio emerged from the mist-shrouded church like a ghostly predato
r. The wolf paused, looked over to where they stood, and wagged his tail.

  Weylin placed a hand beneath Kate's elbow. “I'll take that as a good sign. Come, child.”

  ....

  Kate uttered a quiet prayer of thanks. While obviously crippled by pain, her father was at least conscious. He had even managed a weak smile at the sight of her as they carried him from the old kirk to the shelter of the trees.

  Lord Weylin, in his wisdom, had seen fit to bring a horse-drawn wagon to Maughold. “I thought it prudent in case of an eventuality,” he said, responding to Kate's declaration of gratitude as they placed her father in it. “Sir John will travel more comfortably this way.”

  “It'll take a little time, but he'll recover.”

  Kate turned at the sound of the familiar voice. With Lio at his side, Owen stood in dappled shadows beneath the branches of an oak. Shards of morning sunlight lit the copper glints in his hair, which tumbled to his shoulders in a tousled mess. His creased linen shirt was smudged with dirt and traces of blood. Her father's blood, no doubt. One hand rested at ease on the hilt of his sword, while the other reached up to scratch the stubble on his chin. Kate's stomach churned. Dishevelment, she thought, suited him.

  “The wound looks clean and we've strapped his arm to restrict movement,” he added. “It's not his sword arm, either, which is a blessing.”

  “Owen's right. Your father will be fine, child.” Weylin winked and patted Kate's shoulder. “Now, if you'll both excuse me, I wish to speak with Sir Guy before we leave.”

  “What a remarkable man,” said Kate, watching him wander off. “I've never met anyone like him.”

  “Yes. He's been...” Owen cleared his throat and bent to scratch Lio's ears, “...a second father to me.”

  When he lifted his head again, the reflection of grief in his eyes mirrored hers and, for a brief moment, he looked utterly lost. Then he smiled and ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it even more. A flare of desire ignited in Kate's weary spirit. She wanted to touch him, soothe him, fall into his arms and kiss away his sorrow.

  “I'm so sorry, Owen.” She stepped forward and placed her hand over his heart.

  “Sorry?” His arm slid around her waist and drew her close. Kate sighed and rested her head against his chest, listening to the beloved, steady beat beneath his ribs. He pressed a lingering kiss to her hair. “Sorry for what, Katherine Rose?”

  “Your loss. Weylin told me about your father.”

  “Ah.” She saw his throat tighten and heard his heart thud louder as his chest rose and fell. “Christ, Kate. I... I should've left the abbey sooner. I should have been there to protect you.”

  “Don't,” she whispered, raising up on her toes to kiss him. Her hands cupped his face and her eyes, pooling with tears, met his. “Please don't blame yourself for what happened to me. None of it was your fault. That you are here now, holding me like this, is more than...” She kissed him again. “It's exactly what I dreamed of. So many times.”

  He groaned and pulled her tight against him. “Thank God you're alright. It almost killed me when I discovered you'd been taken.”

  Kate's mind wandered back to that fateful day, and a question burst into her mind.

  “Thomas!” she exclaimed. “God forgive me. I never thought to ask. Is he...I mean, did he survive?”

  “He was alive when we left.” Owen sighed. “I can only pray he still is.”

  Before she could answer, a cough came from behind, obvious in its intent to attract attention. Kate looked round to see one of the knights approaching – a small man, as wiry as a whippet.

  “Forgive the interruption,” the knight said, with a slight French accent and a twinkle in his eye. “But Lord Weylin says we're ready to leave. Three of us – myself included – are to ride ahead to make preparations for your arrival.”

  Owen nodded. “Merci, Guy.” He meshed his fingers with Kate's. “Time to go, my brave girl. The sooner we get your father to Rushen, the better.”

  “I'd like to ride in the wagon with him, Owen.”

  “Of course.”

  He lifted her aboard and the man at the reins gave her a nod of welcome.

  “I'm here, Papa.” At the sound of her voice, John's eyelids flickered and a corner of his mouth lifted. “I'm here,” she said again, settling on a sheepskin at his side and stroking back the hair from his face. Then she slipped her hand into his, whispering a prayer of thanks when his fingers tightened around hers.

  Owen, seated astride Arrio's strong back, drew up alongside. “We'll take breaks along the way, but if you need to stop at any other time you'll tell me. Promise?”

  She blinked. “I promise.”

  He nodded, gave a whistle, and Lio leapt into the wagon to lie beside John.

  “He'll help keep your father warm,” said Owen. “Try to sleep a little if you can, sweetheart. It's a long ride back.”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but a loud snort drew her attention. It came from a massive horse, leering at her from the rear of the wagon. Kate's eyes widened in recognition.

  “Owen, isn't that...?”

  “Crovan's horse, aye,” said Owen, fighting to keep Arrio still. “Does his presence bother you? I'll move him up front if you like.”

  More curious than resentful, Kate stared at the giant beast that had carried her away from Wraysholme. In what seemed like a reaction to her blatant scrutiny, the horse lifted his nose and curled back his top lip in the semblance of a smile. He looked so ridiculous that Kate had an urge to giggle. “Why is he here?”

  “We couldn't get rid of him, though not through lack of trying. He stuck to us like a shadow and followed us all the way to Houganai, so we took mercy on him and brought him to Mann. He's a good pack animal and gentle enough. But, Kate, if the sight of him offends –”

  “No, truly, it doesn't. I'm just surprised to see him, that's all. But he's loose. Aren't you going to attach him? Lead him?”

  “No need. The daft beast goes wherever we go.”

  The big horse rolled his eyes and farted.

  Owen grimaced. “And that's another thing...”

  Chapter 23

  “Ready?”

  Kate took a deep breath, trying to quell the flutter of excitement in her stomach. “Yes,” she replied. “I'm ready.”

  “You look beautiful.” Her father's eyes softened with obvious emotion. “I only wish your mother was here.”

  “I'd like to believe that she is.” Kate brushed a speck of fluff from his blood-red tunic, blinking back tears at the longing in his voice. “You look very handsome, Papa. You're not in too much pain?”

  “Thank you, my dear. I'm fine.” He smiled and presented a velvet-clad elbow. “Shall we?”

  She nodded and took her father's arm, joy bubbling through her veins like a fresh mountain spring. Cool grey skies had greeted her that morning, but they had not subdued her happiness, nor chilled the warmth that suffused her soul. This was a most blessed day – one that begged reflection on the past as much as the future.

  Six weeks had passed since Kate had emerged from the labyrinth. Her father's recovery had been slow but, in caring for him, their relationship had gained strength. Guilt at failing to protect his daughter had engraved itself on John's conscience. As a result, he sought to make amends by sharing his previously guarded memories with her. The story that made him a reluctant legend was told in its entirety – the hunt, the chase, and the final tragic day on the cliffs. Recollections of Adela, illuminated by her father's enduring love, meant that Kate, at long last, had a true and beautiful image of her mother to cherish.

  The most startling news came one morning when the sky and the sea bore the same grey pallor. Kate and Owen had entered John's room to find him seated in a chair by the window. Lord Weylin occupied the window seat, an unfurled scroll dangling from his hand. Both men looked up as the door opened, their expressions serious.

  Kate glanced at the scroll and hesitated in her stride. “What is it, Papa? Is
something wrong?”

  “A missive from young David,” he replied, with a grim smile. “News from Wraysholme.”

  Owen's grasp on Kate's hand tightened. “Thomas,” he murmured. “Is he...?”

  “No.” John shifted in his chair. “Thomas still lives, but is not yet recovered. I'm not sure if that news is good or bad, however, since I'm still of a mind to kill him when I return.”

  “Papa!” Kate cried. “You don't mean that.”

  “Perhaps not. But I've yet to decide whether or not to let him stay in my employ. The man betrayed me for years.”

  “That's not what concerns you, though,” said Owen, glancing from John to Weylin. “There is something of a more serious nature. I can see it on your faces.”

  “So saith my perceptive young assistant.” Weylin looked at John. “Shall I?”

  John gave a nod. “By all means, my lord.”

  Weylin returned the nod and cleared his throat. “It would seem that Edgar d'Argonne was found dead in his chambers the morning after your abduction, Katherine.”

  Kate gasped and clutched at Owen's arm. “Dead? My God. How?”

  “Apparently, he returned home the day before in a terrible rage and proceeded to consume copious amounts of wine.” Weylin's bushy brows knitted in a frown. “Sometime during the night, he must have stumbled and struck his head on the stone hearth. The servants found him the next morning. The man was already cold.”

  “Forgive me, Katherine,” her father said, “for ever believing him to be good enough for you.”

  Kate's head swam. Propriety demanded that she find some sympathy for the man she might have married. Yet despite her best effort, she struggled to feel any sincere measure of grief for Edgar.

  Her grief for Elric remained, but it had become ghostlike; an entity that haunted her in the depths of sleepless nights. Sleep, when it did come, was empty of dreams – at least, any she could recall upon waking. Since leaving the labyrinth there had been no visions, no voices. Nothing. It was like a door had closed in her mind, and she'd lost the key. In a strange twist, the nighttime quietude she once craved now frustrated her.