by Martin Owton
Aron forced himself to run, but his strength was spent and he could do no more than stumble a few paces to a sturdy apple tree. He turned to face his pursuers as they burst through the undergrowth, the dogs baying in delight at the sight of their prey. Lord Tirellan blew a triumphant blast on his horn to halt the pack. He urged his mount forward to stop a few paces from Aron. Aron stood his back against the tree, holding his club defiantly, facing the circle of his enemies.
Lord Tirellan looked down at Aron, his face lathered with sweat from the ride. “I must congratulate you on an excellent chase, young man,” he said smiling broadly, his blue eyes shining with pleasure. “Quite the best we’ve had. Such a shame it has to end.”
He dismounted and drew his sword from where it hung at the saddle. He shook himself to free his muscles, rolling his head around in a circle, before raising the blade and turning towards Aron.
“Before we finish it, I should like to know what you expected to do with the nasty little knife you were hiding. It must have been most uncomfortable. Did you think we wouldn’t find it?”
Aron raised his head to spit at Tirellan but didn’t have the strength.
“How dare you come to my home and behave in this manner?” The voice was that of a woman, a very angry woman. Aron and Tirellan both turned to look at the speaker. Iduna stood before them dressed in pure white, her eyes blazing with anger.
The smile on Tirellan’s face froze. “Iduna,” he gasped.
The dogs turned to her; the pack leader bared its teeth and snarled. Iduna glared at it for a single icy moment.
“This is my place and I will not have your dark magic defile it.”
She snapped her fingers and the dog fled howling, its tail between its legs. The rest of the pack followed, and in a few heart beats they were out of sight, their mournful howls the only reminder of their existence.
“You, I don’t know, though I know your sort,” said Iduna looking at Cristoff. “But you should know better than to come here again,” she said turning to Tirellan who seemed paralysed by shock.
“Who is this damned witch, Petter?” asked Cristoff reaching for his bow. “Tell her to go away before we get upset with her.”
Iduna turned to face Cristoff. “Do not use that word in my presence.”
“I’ll do as I please,” said Cristoff. “I think you’ve outstayed your welcome.” He nocked an arrow and, taking aim at Iduna, bent the bow.
“No. Cristoff!” cried Tirellan.
“Goodbye witch,” said Cristoff and released the arrow.
Iduna stood quite still, but Aron saw her eyes blaze for a moment. The arrow veered away, missing her by an armslength and carrying on, flying a complete circle, ending where it had started with Cristoff.
Cristoff stared in disbelief as the arrow curved back at him, until it struck him in the chest. He opened his mouth to scream, but blood filled his throat. He gurgled and slid sideways off his horse to the ground, his blood spilling out and staining the rich turf. Tirellan ran to where he lay and cradled his friend’s head in his lap burying his face in Cristoff’s hair. When he looked up tears streamed down his face.
“He’s dead,” he raged. “You didn’t have to do that, Iduna. He was no threat to you.”
“He died because he was a fool,” said Iduna, no hint of sympathy in her voice. “But how much greater a fool are you to bring your evil to this place? You have broken your promise to me, Petter. There is no-one in your heart save yourself.”
“You could have spared him, Iduna.”
“As you would have spared this one,” said Iduna glancing at Aron. “I think not.”
“Have mercy, Iduna,” Tirellan said softly. “You loved me once.”
“How can you speak of it when you have brought dark magic to my home? You have become an abomination, Petter.”
There was sadness mixed in with the anger, Aron thought, as he listened to her words. Iduna had loved Tirellan!
“Would you have me beg, my Lady?” said Tirellan.
“It is beyond anything you could say.”
Aron heard finality in her voice and, by the look on his face, Tirellan did too. He laid Cristoff’s head gently on the grass and stood up; his legs red with blood. He raised his head to meet Iduna’s gaze. A single tear trickled down his cheek. Then it seemed to Aron as if the air itself twisted like a sudden eddy in a pool of water. When his vision cleared a statue of flawless white marble stood before them the exact likeness of Tirellan, the tear forever frozen on his cheek.
Iduna stood a moment facing the statue and then turned to Aron, her face wet with tears.
“Beloved,” she said, her voice choked and husky.
Aron stepped away from the support of the tree to go to her, but his legs folded under him and he pitched forward onto the grass. Instantly she was beside him, pillowing his head on her breast, probing his wounds with soft fingers.
“How did you find me?” whispered Aron.
“You called me, my love; and you kept your promise,” she said softly. “Hush now; it is healing you need and for that you must rest. Sleep now and when you wake you shall tell me all about it.”
Aron felt a languorous warmth spreading through him and was vaguely aware that she had picked him up in her arms as easily as a mother picks up her infant. Before she had taken a dozen steps he was asleep, his head cradled against her shoulder as she carried him through the orchard to her bower.
CHAPTER 33
“Hello? Is there anyone there?” said Edith as she laid her hand on the door handle. “Hello….?”
The final syllable trailed off into a squeak as she beheld the room before her. Lord Tirellan and Cristoff were sprawled naked and unmoving on a pair of couches, their bodies speckled with dark red splashes. Their fine clothes lay in a heap on the floor beside a discarded pair of silver handled whips. Spread-eagled on a frame attached to the wall in front of them was a naked figure; back, buttocks and legs red raw and bloodied, a pool of blood and filth congealed on the tiles beneath them. The room stank of blood, sweat and vomit mixed with the scented oil of the lamps.
Edith stood with her eyes and mouth wide open, staring at the room, forgetting to breathe until she gasped for air. Then Celaine pushed past her and ran to Lord Tirellan.
“Petter, Petter. Wake up.” She patted his cheek lightly. “Petter. You have to wake up.”
Edith slipped past her and knelt to examine Cristoff.
“He’s dead,” she said after a moment, her voice shaking. “Whatever are we going to do?”
“He can’t be dead,” wailed Celaine, she shook Tirellan’s head. “Wake up, wake up.” There was no response.
Edith took her sister’s hands and stopped her shaking the body. “He’s dead too, Celaine,” she said gently.
“No! He’s going to marry me,” wailed Celaine shaking Tirellan more forcefully.
When he did not respond she flung herself over Tirellan’s body sobbing deep wracking sobs. Edith held her shoulders for a moment, but then decided to let her cry and moved to investigate the body on the frame. She shivered in disgust and sympathetic pain as she looked at the cruel wounds. She forced herself to undo the leather straps binding his legs and then, standing on a stool, she reached up and untied his wrists. She all but dropped him as his dead weight slumped in her arms.
“Celaine, Celaine. Help me with him,” she said, her voice breaking in panic. Celaine looked up blankly, her face streaked with tears. “Help me, Celaine. I can’t hold him.”
Edith tried to shift the man’s weight to support him more easily, but the stool tipped and slid on the bloody floor. With a shriek the two of them collapsed in a pile. Edith’s head hit the floor with a thump and she cried out in pain.
“Edith. Edith, are you alright?”
Celaine’s shaky whisper seemed to come from a long way away. She felt a hand patting her cheek.
“Edith, wake up, please.”
Edith groaned
and opened her eyes to see Celaine kneeling beside her, her eyes wide with fear. Edith rubbed at her eyes to clear away the blood that was smeared across her face. She tried to sit up, but pain flashed alarmingly in her head. She groaned and lay back again.
Celaine went over to the couch where Lord Tirellan lay. She took a cushion, placed it gently under Lord Tirellan’s head and then brought the rest of them over to where Edith lay, pinned under the bloody body. She lifted Edith’s head and slid the cushions under her one by one, then sat and silently wept until Edith felt able to move without her head splitting. With Celaine’s help, Edith eased herself carefully out from under the body, and cradling his head in her lap, she looked into his face. Recognition dawned.
“Aron?” she whispered, staring in shock at his curled hair, rouged cheeks and painted lips.
“But what’s he doing here?” said Celaine. “And why is his face painted like a girl?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care,” cried Edith. She buried her face in Aron’s chest and sobbed her heart out for the end of her world. She didn’t understand how he could be here, why he looked as he did. All she knew was that something was terribly, monstrously wrong.
Somewhere in the midst of her tears she became aware of Celaine plucking at her shoulder.
“Edith, we can’t stay here, I’m frightened.”
Edith turned and looked up at her sister’s wild, tear-stained face.
“They’re all dead,” whispered Celaine breathlessly.
“Let me say goodbye,” said Edith.
She bent to brush a stray curl from Aron’s face and softly kiss his rouged lips. Suddenly she sat up.
“Celaine, he’s alive. He’s breathing.”
“Are you sure?”
“I felt it when I kissed him,” said Edith. “I’m sure.”
“Let me see.” Celaine bent over and gently lowered her lips to Aron’s. “Oh, thanks be,” she whispered. She looked up, her eyes very wide. “We must get him away from here.”
“We must cover him with something,” said Edith. Celaine nodded blankly, but did not move. Biting her lip, Edith looked around the room. Gently lowering Aron’s head onto a cushion, she stood up and walked decisively to the door returning a moment later with a heavy velvet curtain. Celaine was sitting cradling Aron’s head in her lap.
“Here, help me wrap him in this,” she commanded.
Celaine reluctantly released her hold on Aron, and they gently rolled him onto the curtain; tears starting anew in Edith’s eyes as his wounded back was exposed again.
Edith told hold of Aron’s ankles. “Now take his shoulders. No, get right under his arms and lift.”
Celaine did as she was told and together they lifted Aron and awkwardly carried him out of the little room into the sitting room before depositing him gently on a fine silk rug.
“Oh, he’s so heavy,” said Celaine. “We’ll never carry him all the way back.”
Edith looked down at the polished wooden floor and then smiled grimly. She reached down and pulled at the rug. It slid a little way across the floor. She pulled harder.
“Come on,” she said. “We can get him as far as the door like this.”
Taking turns they slid the rug with its unconscious cargo across the room and down the wood-panelled corridor to the entrance hall.
“Now what?” said Celaine. “We can’t slide him outside.”
Edith was silent for a moment.
“We need a barrow or a ponycart,” she said. “You stay here with him. I’ll go and see what I can find.”
Celaine sat down on the rug, lifted Aron’s head into her lap and gently rocked him stroking his curled hair, her face vacant. Edith watched her for a moment and then slipped out of the front door hoping there was still no-one around. She scampered around the side of the house following a gravel path praying it would lead to the stables. Her prayers were answered when she found a handcart standing in the middle of the path piled with garden tools. She tipped them off and hurried back to the door with her prize.
Celaine started at the sound of Edith opening the door
“I’ve got a handcart,” said Edith. “It was the best thing I could find.” Celaine stared at her wide-eyed, still cradling Aron.
“Well, come on, Celaine. Let’s get him onto the cart.”
Celaine did not move. Edith came and shook firmly by the shoulders.
“Get up, Celaine.”
Celaine stared back, her eyes unfocused.
“Celaine. We have to get him onto the cart and take him out of here.”
Celaine rose mechanically.
“Lift him then,” said Edith, bending to grasp Aron’s feet.
Celaine held Aron by the shoulders and together they half carried and half dragged him outside to the handcart. Gasping with the exertion, they dumped him onto the cart. Celaine looked at her sister.
“You’re all covered in blood,” she said distantly.
Edith looked down at her dress; it was indeed soaked with Aron’s blood from where she had held him. I can’t walk across the city in this state.
Edith turned to go back into the house. “Come on then,” she said “Help me find something to wear.”
Celaine, her arms still around Aron, shook her head.
“I’ll stay here with him. Bring a pillow to put under his head too.”
Edith gave her sister an old-fashioned look and then went back into the house. She thought briefly about exploring other rooms but remembered the clothes Lord Tirellan and Cristoff had discarded.
Celaine was standing stroking Aron’s hair when Edith returned wearing Cristoff’s shirt.
“That’s a dead man’s shirt,” said Celaine. She retreated from Edith. “You shouldn’t wear it, that’s unlucky.”
“Yes, it’s Cristoff’s shirt. But he doesn’t need it now, and I do. I can’t walk around the city covered in blood.”
Celaine shook her head.
Edith looked down at Aron and, as if on cue, he stirred and moaned.
“I’ve got to wear it,” she said urgently. “We’ll get taken up by the Watch and then we’ll never get him back. I brought a pillow too.”
Edith held out the pillow. Celaine stared at her wild-eyed, then snatched the pillow and placed it beneath Aron’s head.
“Right. Let’s go,” said Edith briskly. “Don’t be standing there like a mooncalf, Celaine.” She shoved the cart forward. “Help me push, it’s heavy.”
“Careful,” cried Celaine. “Don’t be so rough with it, you’ll jolt him.”
She scurried to catch up with the cart and adjust the pillow beneath Aron’s head.
“Then help me push.”
Together the girls pushed the cart up the drive and out into the city. There were fewer people around now, and most of the shops they passed were dark and shuttered as they rattled through the cobbled streets. The taverns were in full swing, and more than once they had to steer around over enthusiastic revellers spilling out into the street. It was on one such occasion that they encountered the City Watch rounding up a crowd of drunken brawlers.
“What have you there, ladies?”
A tall young man wearing an officer’s insignia asked politetely, but insistently as the girls tried to steer around the melee. He stepped forward and raised his lantern to examine the cart.
“It’s our cousin,” said Edith. “He’s drunk again and Mama sent us to find him.”
“And you are?” he asked, turning back to face them.
“Lady Edith of Nandor. This is my sister Celaine, and this….” She paused to indicate her cargo. “Is Tancred.”
“You are out late, ladies, where are you headed?”
“We are lodging at the Seven Stars.”
“These streets are not safe at night for the likes of you.” He looked to where his men were making ready to march some of the brawlers off to the Watch House. “I can’t spare more than two men, but please allow me
to give you an escort.”
Edith smiled in assent, pleased that he had offered what she did not dare ask for.
“Kal, Barri,” he called to two Watchmen. “Escort these ladies to The Seven Stars.”
The two Watchmen saluted sharply and marched over to where the girls stood. They both took a brief look at Aron, then one of them took the handles of the cart and set out at a brisk pace for the inn.
To the girls, it seemed a very short time before the Watchmen halted in the yard of The Seven Stars. They saluted politetely and hurried away leaving the girls with Aron.
“You stay here, I’ll go up and fetch Mother,” said Edith.
She pushed open the door and ran two steps at a time up the stairs to the suite that the Nandor party had rented. Lady Alice was sitting beside the fire, working on a piece of embroidery. She heard the door open, looked up and abruptly put the embroidery down.
“Edith! Where on earth have you been?” she said sharply, rising from the chair. “Look at the state of you. What have you been doing? Where’s Celaine?”
“She’s downstairs, Mama. Come quickly,” Edith said breathlessly. “We’ve got Aron and he’s hurt.”
Lady Alice caught the urgency in her daughter’s voice and jumped to her feet. “Where? Show me.”
“In the yard.”
Edith turned and hurried down the stairs with her mother close behind.
“Where did you find him?”
“Er ….I’ll explain later,” replied Edith.
She reached the door to the yard glad to postpone further questions. They clattered out into the yard where Celaine was bent over the still figure of Aron.
Celaine lifted his head as her mother approached. “He’s still alive, Mama,” she said, her voice shaking.
Lady Alice lifted Aron’s eyelids and probed his neck lightly searching for a pulse.