Lockeran (Prince Ciaran the Damned Book 2)

by Ruari McCallion

  “Long story. I will give you the recipe if you would like? Can you read?” I asked, hastily and without wishing to cause offence.

  “Yes, I read our Bible, in the Church.” I nodded. Taught to read in a Church? Unusual - possibly unique. Someone of lower class - and a woman as well - taught to read. If I had had the time I would have followed it up but it didn’t look like I would get the chance. I repeated my offer to write the recipe down, if she could find a spare piece of parchment anywhere. She looked around and picked up the description that had got me into my present predicament. “Will this do?” she asked, with a mischievous smile. I laughed.

  “It will do fine,” I grinned. “I especially like the seals. Gives it an official air. But we had better wait till the constable comes back and accepts that it isn’t about me. Now,” I said, more seriously. “I know this will be a difficult question for you, a Christian, but - what did you See?” She looked away and muttered that she didn’t know what I was talking about.

  “Yes you do, Valeria,” I said. She looked up sharply at the mention of that name.

  “Why do you call me that? Why do you call me Valeria?”

  “You told me that was your name. I asked what your name was and you said it was Valeria.” She shook her head, slowly.

  “No, no, it isn’t. You must have misheard me. I am named Johanna.” She shook her head again. “But…” I waited and said nothing. “But he said that name meant something to you. A lot. He said that Valeria meant a lot.”

  “Who did? What did?”

  “A child.” It was my turn to stand up in alarm.

  “What did he look like?” she looked puzzled.

  “Not he. A little girl.” I slithered down the wall.

  “You said ‘he’.” She shook her head. She started to say something about me mishearing again but I put up my hand.

  “No point, Val - Johanna. I have been used to convey messages in the past. It looks like this has been your turn.”

  “What does it mean?” She looked over at me. A tear was forming in her eye. She was quite distressed. I asked how long she had been having these Visions. Since she entered womanhood, she confirmed. That figured. I started to get them when I hit puberty. She hadn’t had many but she tried to conceal what was happening whenever it did. She had come very quickly to recognise the signs and made herself scarce.

  “I come from a good, God-fearing family,” she said. “I try to be good, to keep myself pure. But I hear voices others don’t! I told my mother and she said I was to keep it to myself, not to tell anyone, in case they think I’m mad. Or a witch! I don’t want to be a witch!” She said this last quietly but with some urgency. She leaned over and implored me to help.

  “There is no witchcraft involved,” I assured her. “It is a gift from the - from God. The Romans don’t understand it and it frightens them. But the Irish Church understands it very well. I was trained by a man who went off to be a Christian priest, with the monks from Erin, and I have worked with several of them, over the years. Always for the good. It is not a curse - although it may well feel like it, most of the time!” She laughed at that, mixed with tears of relief. “Pass me over my food and then you can tell me what you Saw.” She apologised profusely for forgetting. She had to hand it through the bars to me: a flagon of soup, which still had some warmth in it, along with fresh bread and cheese and a flagon of bright ale - presumably from the barrel I had bought. I doubted very much that the landlord would have opened another. It was sufficient. As I ate, she tried to explain her Vision.

  “There is always the child. Always the child. She gave me a ball of wool.” I asked what colour it was. “Blue. Light blue. She told me that it was yours. Do you know what that means?”

  “It means I have a task to perform. A journey. A quest.” She nodded.

  “Yes, that would be right. That feels right - you know?” I nodded. Yes, I knew very well. “She told me to look after myself and all would be well, but I might have to go on a journey, away from here.” She stopped and looked at me, expectantly. I snorted, momentarily.

  “I was going to suggest that you consider moving to Dumnonia or Berec, over in Brittany. There are plenty of Irish clergy there, both monks and nuns. They won’t be disturbed by your Gift at all. They will value it and encourage you to develop it.”

  “Will I have to join a nunnery?” I shook my head and assured her that it would be her choice.

  “I’m not a monk, as you may have noticed!” I smiled. She said she’d come back to that. She had a serious expression. Then she continued, in that distracted way people have when they are trying to remember clearly something that is very important.

  “I Saw some festivals, some upset - battles and the like. There are always battles and wars, somewhere. I didn’t see anything that really drew my attention. Then the child spoke to me. She said that you were facing a great test but that all would be well.” She looked a little shifty - she couldn’t meet my eye.

  “Go on,” I said. “Tell me.”

  “She said not to worry. You would be broken but remade.” She looked away, uncomfortable.

  “I have faced stern tests before. I lost everything - home, family,” I paused.

  “Your life’s love?” she asked, quietly. “The child said to mention the name Valeria to you, as a token of the truth of what I am telling you. You loved her? I think you still do.”

  “I would give everything for her but that’s the problem - my paradox, if you like. If I gave up everything for her I would not be able to have her anyway. But if I don’t, I can’t.” She hugged her knees to herself. She was disturbingly attractive. She looked up and smiled, sadly.

  “It’s like one of those love stories. A love made in Heaven but to remain unfulfilled on Earth. Very sad. I hope my life isn’t like that.”

  “Did the child show you your future husband?” I asked, changing the subject. After all these years, just the mention of Valeria’s name could still affect me.

  “No,” she laughed. “She smiles whenever I try to ask. I shall just have to wait, I suppose. But there was more about you.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “You must go to Emnet. Ellet. Eml -“

  “Elmet.”

  “Yes, that’s it. Elmet. She said the English are coming but they need you. And to be on your guard against the Three. She said it like that, like it was important. Three.”

  Aye, there are always three. I don’t understand why, but there are.

  “Now, about Zelda,” she said, after a pause. Zelda? “Your companion last night. She is not to be trusted. Don’t trust her.”

  “Is she not your friend?”

  “Not really, to be honest. We were friends when we were younger but she was always mad on men, soon as she got breasts. I know that plenty of men like them like that. Anyway - don’t trust her. I hope you would have learned your lesson from last night. I expect you have. But if she comes around again, don’t trust her. She always has a plan in mind and they usually involve someone else losing out.” I thanked her for her warning but suggested that I was unlikely to be at her mercy again, with the magistrate arriving in the morning and given my current quarters. She stood up, collected the dishes and prepared to take them back to the inn.

  “I won’t be helping you to escape, if that’s what you’re hoping,” she said. I was indeed hoping that, as it happened. She then said something rather odd. She stopped and looked at my cell. “This is just a prison. Iron bars don’t make a cage.” I thought I would try something.

  “How old are you, Johanna?” I mind-spoke to her.

  “Twenty,” she said.

  “Don’t be in a rush to get any older. You’re wise beyond your years as it is.” She began to laugh and then realised that I hadn’t opened my mouth.

  “How did you do that?”

  “It’s something you can learn, with the right teacher. I can’t stay - whatever happens tomorrow - but if you want to learn how to make the most of yourself, get over
to Dumnonia. Go to a monastery or abbey. They will find someone to help you.” I said all this without once moving my lips. She was impressed. Before she could say too much, though, the door opened and the constable returned. He greeted Johanna cheerfully and asked if all was well. I replied that I had been well fed and had enjoyed the very good company of a virtuous young woman. I got a burst of static and ‘flatterer’. She had tried to mind-speak me. Even the constable winced at her clumsy attempt, although he had no idea what it was. I could hardly come down on her hard; it was my fault for encouraging her. And I had done pretty much the same, many years ago.

  “Don’t try that without training, Johanna. All I got was a screeching hiss and a single word. Anyone within a day’s march who has a similar Gift to you will have heard it. And remember - not everyone has good intentions.” At the same time, I engaged the constable in idle banter abut the food and how late the magistrate was likely to be, whether I would have the town paying for my upkeep for a few days more. Johanna was looking worried, now. “Don’t be concerned. I haven’t detected anyone within miles - except for you. But at the same time: be warned. You have to learn how to use your Gift. I have shown you a little of what is possible. Now, off you go. I think you have overstayed your allotted time already.” She nodded, bid the constable goodbye and left. I then remembered that I had meant to give her the recipe for the Vision medicine. The constable refused to tear anything off the document with my description on it - the very suggestion prompted a bout of officious rule-book citing. He found a very old piece of parchment, written on only one side, a pen and some ink. I wrote the recipe down in as small lettering as I could, while keeping it legible. She would be able to cut the piece away from the rest and leave almost a whole page. He promised to pass it on.

  “This is for headaches, you say? I get headaches…”

  “For a particular kind of headache. Not all headaches, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh. Just women, eh? I see.” he nodded and sadly put the parchment down. I didn’t disabuse him - the less he knew, the better, probably. He made a show of tidying up his office, which passed a bit of time. Then he stepped outside again, saying he was going off on patrol. I settled down and prepared to doze off until the next mealtime.

  Johanna remembered that I would need more food, even if the constable didn’t. I saw no more of him the rest of that day. Johanna’s company made up for any slight I might have felt. The beef and oyster stew was pretty good too, and I asked her to pass my compliments back to the cook. She had had no more Visions - I would hardly expect her to, so soon after the previous one. Most Seers were nowhere near as prolific with them as I tended to be. I pointed out where the constable had left the parchment with the recipe for the medicine. She was gushingly grateful. She read it and remarked how commonplace were the herbs listed in the ingredients.

  “It’s not just what you have, it’s how you use it. How you put it together,” I said. She nodded, still focused on the recipe.

  “Thank you magister,” she said, with a distracted air as she was heading towards the door. I called her back.

  “Magister? You called me magister.”

  “Did I?” I confirmed that she had.

  “I am not an Irish monk, nor likely to be,” I said. She thought about it.

  “Don’t write off anything,” she said at last. “I Have a feeling… Maybe nothing. Probably nothing at all.” She looked around the cell and the lockup again. “I might not get to talk to you again. Take care. Good luck to you. I can tell you have done some wicked things. In my Vision of you, I saw you leaving a trail of blood behind you that stretched to… God knows where. It criss-crossed, again and again, until the picture was nearly all blood. You have done a lot of bad things. You have killed a lot of people. But I don’t think you have given in to evil. You have not allowed it to take you over, although you may be allowing it to take control. The Child said you would be broken but you would be remade. I hope you are remade better. I don’t think you are an evil man.” I shrugged. To me, ‘being remade’ meant my next life - my reincarnation. She followed a branch of Christianity that did not believe in that - it absolutely rejected it, in fact. I would make the best of this life and hope that I would not have too much to redeem in my next foray into the world. As she walked towards the door she stopped again. She had a mischievous smile as she turned. “Don’t spend it all at once. They may have need of it in Emle- Elnum-”

  “Elmet,” I said.

  “That’s the one,” she said. She asked me what my name was.

  “It’s best that you don’t know. That way, no-one can make you betray me.” She thought about it and then agreed. She smiled again, and left me alone. It was getting darker by the minute. I realised that the constable wasn’t coming back and so I settled down to go to sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  Let Freedom Ring

  It was pitch black and well into the night when I was awoken by a mighty banging. It sounded like someone was trying to hack their way through the back wall. I hauled myself up by the bars at the window to have a look out and see what was going on. Someone was indeed trying to hack their way through the wall. A large figure - Theofric, I could tell - was wielding a pick, with focus and determination.

  “Theofric!” I hissed, and repeated myself, a little louder. He stopped and looked up.

  “The front door’s unlocked. No need to dig your way in.” He looked away, to someone I couldn’t see. He disappeared after whoever it was. The front door opened, to reveal…Zelda. She was carrying a small, hissing and spitting torch. She disappeared round the corner and then reappeared, swinging a bunch of keys over her finger and grinning. Even in this flickering light, she was good looking.

  “Pleased to see me?”

  “Always.”

  “I can help you out if you ask nicely.”

  “Please will you help me out?”

  “Is that the best you can do?”

  “My most gracious request, my most eloquent please? A very pretty please, almost as pretty as you, with bells, ribbons and some Frankish gold coins on?” Her smile grew broader.

  “Now you understand. How much for your ticket out?”

  “I understand a girl has to make a living.”

  “I need enough to make a new start, somewhere miles from this dump.” I assured her that I could help with much of her setting-up costs. “People are so mean to me round here. Just cos I like a bit of fun. Where’s the harm in that?” It was rather too late at night for philosophy, theology or classes in personal morality. I suggested we get on with it before anyone was attracted by the light of the torch or came to investigate Theofric’s banging. “Will you help me? You seem like a nice man. I like you. I like your manliness.” Oh, gods - she’d been drinking and was about to tip into maudlin. I assured her that I liked her, too, and that I would help her, but she’d have to let me out of the cell. She insisted on a kiss before clicking the lock, and it had to be a proper one. She still had all her teeth but her breath smelled a bit of beer. My beer, I was pretty sure.

  Finally, she opened the lock and I was released - but I couldn’t yet claim to be free. I grabbed my bag and urged her out of the lockup as well. She complained a bit but paused long enough to hear some stirring from buildings nearby. I slung my bag over my shoulder, grabbed her torch and picked her up with my other arm. She squealed a bit - not too much - and in a way that was probably enough to persuade the disturbed neighbours that there was nothing going on that they needed to inspect too closely. We ran a few dozen yards and then she insisted on being set down. Theofric caught up with us and the two of them had a quick word about where they were. We retraced our steps to a sidestreet, and then turned into a narrow alley. It was just, so: predictable. I was a little disappointed.

  “Where’s the third one?” she looked up, startled, and asked me what I meant. “There are always three. Where’s your friend?” In fact, I didn’t have to ask. Even without my Gift I could hear him, trying to creep up behind
me. He was young and over-confident. I turned, fast, and threw my bag over the arm that was carrying the polished nightstick, raised and ready to strike. The momentum carried him round and exposed his back to me. He wasn’t armoured. Two quick punches to the kidneys and he was on his knees, heaving. A four-finger punch to the neck and he was down. I didn’t have a chance to finish him before I was aware that Theofric was lumbering towards me. I needed more space to deal with him. I grabbed my bag, jumped over the prone figure of whoever it was and retreated, sharpish, into the sidestreet. It was narrow but it was wider than the alley. Theofric followed. Now, he wasn’t going to set the world on fire when it came to thinking but I could tell that he was cunning. He probably had a few notches on that cudgel of his. I would have to distract him with something a little special, which would then allow me to finish it.