Lucia shook her head sullenly. ‘That be not necessary. Thou shalt walk afore me; thou shalt tread where I tell thee to tread, turn when I tell thee to turn, and halt when I tell thee to halt.’
Mads bowed low. ‘It would seem I be at thy mercy, child.’
‘My name be Lucia!’
Mads’ face changed imperceptibly at the mention of her name. He fought to recall some long ago buried memory, and struggled to dredge up images of the past.
He knew that name, or one like it.
He knew this child, he was certain.
He just could not remember.
*
Mads stood before the Chief Elder and the five other counselling village Elders whose word was law within the settlement, his soul laid bare before them as he claimed sanctuary.
He told how he had been conscripted into the raiding parties from his homeland some ten years earlier, and how he unwillingly fought the heathens of this island for fear that if he did not, his own kin would turn upon him and most assuredly kill him.
Many in the raiding parties were evil men, bent only on rape, torture and murder, intent on pillaging whatever treasures the poor heathens tried to hide from them.
As his kinsmen fought on further north, so he had decided to return south, to the coast, away from the marauders. He wished to repent for his sins, seek solace in the forgiveness of those he had wronged – and should they decide me must be executed, then that was his punishment and he would make no attempt at defence or escape.
Standing before the Elders, he spread his arms wide. ‘I throw myself upon thy mercy. Do with me what ye will, but if ye wish my death, then make it swift.’
The Chief Elder motioned for the two men guarding the door to the chamber. ‘We shall deliberate. Thou shalt remain free to wander amongst the dwellings of our village, but thou wouldst do well to attempt no escape.’ He waved one of his severely arthritic hands at one of the guards. ‘Roache, mayhap thou wouldst have thy daughter tend the needs of our guest, since she brought him to us.’
The powerfully built man, his body and arms covered in almost as much coarse black hair as his head and face, bowed low. ‘As thou wish, Lord Edmund,’ he mumbled. He grabbed Mads roughly by the arm, manhandling him from the council chamber, leaving the six Elders to deliberate upon his fate.
As they left the large stone hut, bending low to duck beneath the low hanging thatched eaves, Mads fought his desire to shrug off Roache’s tight grip. It angered him that he sought sanctuary, only to be treated with such contempt – though he was not particularly surprised by his treatment at the hands of the heathens. He knew they would do the right thing. He had faith in the deity they worshipped, which had saved the settlement from his kin ten tears ago.
He had not been a member of that particular raiding party, but he had heard mutterings amongst the survivors, who told of the wise woman of the settlement known locally as Elendale; they told of how she had worshipped the trees, and how the trees rose up like nature’s vast army to strike the raiding party dead. Only a handful fled the scene of carnage, claiming they had been spared to deliver a stark warning to those who might attempt a second attack upon the settlement.
If this woman truly existed and was indeed wise, then the Elders of the settlement would surely seek her counsel. She would know he posed no threat to them and they would grant him sanctuary.
Outside in the cold wind of the late-autumn afternoon, Mads pulled his furs around himself for warmth when Roache let him go.
‘Be thou hungered?’ Roache asked in a gruff, friendless voice.
‘Aye, that I be.’
Roache set off across the grassy knoll, passing numerous ramshackle huts that looked to Mads like they would blow down in a strong gust of winter wind, heading towards a more robust stone hut on the outskirts where the forest encroached, nestling beneath the shadow of the hill that dominated the skyline.
‘Thou wouldst do well to avoid the Forest of the Dead Men,’ Roache said, with a malicious gleam in his eye. ‘It be said the Great Elen herself dwells therein, awaiting the unwary and the unwise who venture into her domain. It be said she doth eat men who have evil in their hearts.’
‘Be this Elen the Wise Woman I hath heard talk of?’
Roache turned to face Mads. ‘She be our protector. None may stand up to the might and power of the Great Elen. Thou hast been warned.’
‘How many times must I tell thee, I mean ye no harm? I seek sanctuary from my kinsmen, for they would certainly strike me dead for my desertion.’
‘I sense thou speaketh the truth. The Elders shall consult with Elen. Be warned; from the Great Elen thou cannot hide behind lies and deceit.’
‘Then it be as well that I speak the truth.’
They drew close to the stone hut, which Mads deduced was Roache’s home, and the wooden door opened to reveal Lucia. She wore her usual frown of disdain, directed squarely at Mads. ‘Why hast thou brought this barbarian to our home, Father?’
‘Lord Edmund, he doth wish it, daughter.’
Lucia chuckled, but there was no humour in the brief sound. ‘Father, I cannot countenance such abhorrence amongst us. I care not if Lord Edmund doth wish it or not, this man be not welcome here. Men of his kind did kill Mother.’
‘That be not known, daughter. He did not attack our settlement and take thy mother from us. Hold thee everyone not of our land accountable for such deeds?’
‘Yes!’ The venom in Lucia’s tone disturbed Roache. He had known his daughter to possess an intense dislike towards the barbarian hordes who held supremacy to the north, but this vitriol seemed directed at Mads personally. The anger and animosity was palpable, as thick upon the air as the heavy clouds above in the darkening sky seemed laden with rain.
Indeed, as the venom spat from the mouth of the child, so the rain spat from the sky, increasing in its own fury with each passing second until all three were drenched.
‘Intend thee to make us remain outside, daughter?’ Roache demanded. ‘I shall remind thee that the home be mine as well as thine, and we must obey the commands of Lord Edmund whilst he doth remain our Chief Elder. Whatever thy feelings towards this man’s kinfolk, he be our guest and we should afford him the courtesy that we bestow upon all such guests.’
Lucia pushed her dark hair from her eyes, focussing upon Mads with ill-suppressed hatred. ‘Very well, Father. We shall await the verdict of the Great Elen.’ With great reluctance, Lucia stepped aside to allow Mads entry to their home. As her father moved to follow, she restrained him. ‘Be warned, Father, I shall watch our visitor as a hawk would watch a rabbit. Should he show any sign of treachery, he shall hath no time to act upon it. This I avow.’
‘Daughter, whence cometh thy hatred for this man? He hast done nothing to thee, nor I, nor yet our village, but I sense thy anger be directed at him alone.’
‘He shall destroy us all should he gain such chance. I have seen it afore.’
Roache released his daughter’s grip upon his arm, frowning as he stared into Lucia’s eyes. Something was amiss; his daughter’s countenance returned his stare, yet her eyes were shadowed with an anger and hatred not her own; her voice issued forth from her lips, but the words were not hers.
‘Where hast thou seen it afore, daughter? What dost thou mean by such a statement?’
Lucia tapped the side of her head. ‘I have seen it within my mind. I cannot explain, for I understand not the meaning of my visions, but I know this Mads to be a danger.’
‘Be thou touched by the curse of visions?’ gasped Roache, clearly shocked. When Lucia nodded, he hugged her. ‘Thou must seek out Elen to explain thy visions, for only the Great Elen herself in our lifetime doth have the gift of sight. It be said such visions curse mortal man, but bless those above us.’
‘I be not cursed, Father, and I think not that I be blessed either. Mayhap I should do as thou suggest and visit with the Great Elen.’
‘Then do so now, daughter, afore thy actions condemn an innoc
ent man.’
Pushing Mads ahead of him, Roache entered the hut and closed the door in his daughter’s face, leaving her standing in the autumn downpour getting steadily wetter.
Pulling her clothing tighter around her in a vain effort to maintain warmth, Lucia made her way around the side of the hut she shared with her father, and after pausing momentarily to gain a little confidence, she plunged into the forbidding darkness of the Forest of the Dead Men.
The deeper Lucia went into the forest, the denser the canopy overhead became, enshrouding her in darker shadows. The trees encroached closer and closer together, making progress slow and difficult. The fallen leaves and the rainwater that collected in puddles on the forest floor made the ground slimy and slippery, and several times, Lucia lost her footing.
She cursed her father for suggesting – nay, ordering – that she seek counsel from the Wood Witch, Elen, and she cursed herself for abiding by his request.
Lucia was not especially frightened, though she maintained an apprehensive visage of false calm, not knowing what to expect of Elen. She had no knowledge of the Wood Witch’s appearance, though she had a vague idea she might be a wizened old hag, and she did not know how well she would be received. Visitors were rare; nobody was brave enough to venture into the Forest of the Dead Men, and though they claimed to seek counsel from their great protector when it was deemed necessary, Lucia held a strong belief that the Elders in fact did not meet with her.
But I am going to meet with Elen, Lucia thought to herself, with a little burst of pleasure that masked some of her apprehension.
The trees ahead began thinning out at last, and she found herself in a small clearing, not much smaller than the hut she and her father shared. Around its edge, a few tree stumps and fallen tree trunks seemed to be arranged like seating in a meeting hall.
Mayhap the Elders do meet with Elen after all, mused Lucia.
She glanced around with interest. Up above, the canopy of the trees was so dense that it shielded the ground from the elements with great effectiveness. At the far end, a pile of rocks seemed arranged in the semblance of some kind of altar – for worshippers to pray to their deity perhaps, or for sacrificial offerings to appease her.
Lucia was suddenly not so sure coming here was such a good idea. She personally did not see Elen as a deity; she was not convinced that Elen was anything other than an old woman who lived in the forest. Now, however, it seemed to Lucia that Elen was revered more than she had anticipated, and she had brought no offerings of any kind. How might she appease the wrath of the Wood Witch without an offering? What kind of offerings did the Elders bring? Fruit? Food? Animals for sacrifice? There were no signs of any a animal bones littering the ground, no trace of blood on the stone altar – which, though reassuring, did not rule out the possibility of sacrifice.
In the centre of the clearing stood a mighty oak of impressive height, and as she peered upwards, Lucia suddenly realised this tree was fully clothed in leaves, whilst those all around had lost most of theirs; immodestly nude protectors of the Great Elen in all her glory.
Lucia faced the central tree warily. ‘Elen, if thou art here, I come seeking audience with thee, oh great mistress of the forest.’
Laughter reverberated all around the clearing. ‘Thou wish to counsel with the Great Elen?’ The voice was more startling than the laughter, for it did indeed emanate from the mighty oak.
Lucia was not about to display her unease, though. ‘I do. I am Lucia, daughter of Roache. We live in your protected settlement of Elendale. I have come seeking thy counsel, for a stranger has come amongst us. He be one of the barbarian horde, claiming sanctuary, but I trust him not. He be familiar to me, though I know not why. I wish thee to explain my visions, Great Elen.’
From deep down within the bowels of the earth, a sudden rumbling startled Lucia further, forcing her several steps backwards as she watched the astonishing transformation of the mighty oak into a young woman.
Vaguely human in appearance, she was nonetheless beautiful, in spite of the odd texture of her face, the largeness of her eyes, and the tendrils that grew from her head in place of hair. Exposed to the elements, much of her body had the same texture as her face, with odd mossy growths maintaining her modesty, and though she was almost nude, the coldness seemed not to affect her.
‘Elen?’ gasped Lucia.
The mysterious woman inclined her head, blinking her large owl-like eyes. ‘That be my name.’
She did not smile at Lucia, who felt vaguely threatened by this obviously powerful creature. Had she not witnessed firsthand the transformation, Lucia would not have thought such a thing possible.
Elen walked around the girl slowly, scrutinizing her carefully from every angle. ‘I know who thou art,’ she said as she reached her starting point before Lucia once more. She stared hard into the girl’s eyes, and although Lucia wanted desperately to look away, she could not. Elen reached out, caressing Lucia’s face with exquisite tenderness. ‘I sense thy confusion, child, for thou know not who thou truly art!’
‘Elen, I understand not thy words.’
‘My child, thy visions be not mere waking dreams. They be memories from a time long ago. Thou hast lived afore, Lucia, daughter of Roache. Thou hast lived afore, and died in terrible confusion. Thou believeth this man Mads to be a danger to thy kinfolk, but he be no threat to ye. However, there be one amongst ye who be a danger. Thou must protect Mads from the danger, Lucia. Thou must trust my words and see that he doth come to no harm whilst in thy charge.’
‘Great Elen, how can he be no threat? I have seen with mine own eyes within my mind the great evil he brings. He be the destroyer of innocents.’
‘Lucia, thou hast witnessed memories of a great tragedy, the tragedy of a misunderstanding. I cannot interfere, but I might tell thee that thou hast it within thy power to prevent it happening again. Thou canst set right this terrible wrong, here and now, if thou wouldst open thine eyes to the truth. Be not swayed by the great anger and hatred that fills thee from beyond the grave.’
‘I understand not…’
‘Thou need not understand what meaning my words hold. Thou must heed my words of warning and protect Mads at all costs from the great anger that pursues him. Break the cycle, Lucia, daughter of Roache. End the madness, lest all should happen over.’
‘I shall do what I must, Great Elen,’ muttered Lucia softly.
Elen nodded. ‘I know thou shalt do just that,’ she said, and amid a great rumbling, returned to her previous state.
Sensing the meeting to be over, Lucia turned and made her way slowly from the forest, unsure whether she was heading in the right direction. Some inexplicable sixth sense guided her through the trees and she found herself on the forest edge mere feet from her point of entry.
The rain had ceased and the sun hung low in the west, spreading golden fingers out across the lands in search of the shadows of dusk. Lucia was surprised to find she had spent so long in the forest, and as she made her way to the stone hut, she thought on Elen’s words.
It seemed inconceivable to her that Mads was no threat, and that he himself was in danger.
Why doth Elen wish me to protect him?
Lucia entered the hut to find Mads lying on the bed of straw in the far corner, but of her father there was no sign. She moved quietly over to the bed, staring down dispassionately at the sleeping man.
Suddenly, neither her thoughts nor her actions were her own as the anger she had distilled towards all barbarians allowed her companion spirit to gain strength and come forward at last, his own hatred and anger towards this one person stronger than hers.
Shoving Lucia roughly to one side within her mind, Lucius looked down upon the sleeping man. ‘I see thee hiding there, Maud. Thou canst pretend all thou want, but I know it to be thee, and I shall have my vengeance, wretched child, afore thee doth awaken.’
He glanced around and spied the pile of logs in another corner of the room. He hefted one as he picked it up,
smiling as he brought it down hard upon the head of the sleeping Dane, shattering his skull with a sickening crack from the blunt force of the blow.
But one blow was not enough. More frenzied blows rained down upon the dead man.
He did not hear as Roache entered the hut, shouting at his daughter to stop.
He did not see as Roache threw himself across the room.
He did not feel as Roache’s body collided with that of Lucia, nor feel the sickening impact as the girl’s head cracked against the rock hearth in the centre of the room.
And he did not feel the life-force ebb from Lucia’s body.
Everything went black, and when he woke up he was elsewhere, with no recollection of whom he was, and no recollection of where he was, only knowing that the body was not his and that something bad was going to happen – again.
2002
The group that gathered around Elen in her clearing were silent, for once staring at Rachel instead of the wood nymph. Elen herself smiled, almost in some perverse kind of triumph at her stroke of genius in proving her trustworthiness.
Joyce touched Rachel’s hand gently. ‘Are you all right?’ she whispered.
Still shocked at coming face to face with her long deceased daughter, Rachel found she could not speak. Her throat was dry as she tried to come to terms with what she had just experienced. It was not so much the fact that she had come face to face with Gloria that upset her, it was the shamelessly cavalier manner in which Elen had brought her back – just to make a point.
‘My daughter lives on in another life,’ Rachel finally managed to croak as she licked her lips to moisten them.
‘It’s good to know there is another place we might go to after death,’ sighed Louise.
‘And what if we don’t want to live through another lifetime?’ snapped Rachel suddenly. She pointed at Elen. ‘I lost my daughter because you bent the rules you claim to uphold, and now you bring her back to say hello, but I don’t get to keep her in my life because she’s dead. I’ve lost my daughter twice now; if I live on in some kind of afterlife, who’s to say I won’t lose her a third time? I can’t handle that.’
The Master of Prophecy (The Sawyl Gwilym Chronicles Book 2) Page 31