Curse of the Lost Isle Special Edition

by Vijaya Schartz

As Pressine watched with her mind’s eyes, she saw Mattacks slash right and left like a crazed demon. Despite her distaste for the man, she had to admire his courage. Elinas had chosen a most capable knight to defend the ones he loved.

  Extending her special senses into the fray, Pressine suddenly felt herself choking on dust. Overcome by the smell of horse sweat, blood, and unwashed bodies, she felt nauseated but did not withdraw. Battle cries, punctuated by the clash of steel against armor, spread on the warm breeze. Horses screamed as much as the men. Pressine shivered at the mask of hatred distorting the faces of the fighting men.

  Pressine’s gaze followed a few Northumbrian soldiers detaching themselves from the melee and heading for the hillock. They were coming for the women and children! Withdrawing her mind back to where her mare stood, Pressine saw her few guards step forward and form a line to defend their charges, as the enemy galloped across the meadows toward the woods.

  Ceinwyn covered her baby protectively under her mantle while Radegonde paled at the sight of enemy soldiers closing in. Other women screamed, and servants ran to cower behind the trees. As the fighting drew dangerously close, the stench of slaughter flooded the woods, and the din of battle heightened.

  Untrained for war, Pressine’s squeamish mare reared and rolled her eyes, then took off into the woods at a reckless gallop. Unable to slow her runaway mount, Pressine clung to the mane. A frightened scream escaped her lips when the mare bolted downhill. A low branch in the path bashed Pressine’s head. She lost her grip and slipped off the saddle to the soft ground cover. The mare’s hoofbeats faded away, and all light went out.

  * * *

  After routing what was left of the enemy war band, Mattacks pulled up his helmet, wiped the sweat off his forehead, and peered through the dust to assess the damages. He had lost half a dozen men and a few more suffered nasty wounds. Shading his eyes to gaze toward the hillock, he watched the last Northumbrian soldiers fleeing the scene and realized that a few of them had reached the royal party. Stifling an oath, he planted his heels in the black stallion’s flanks, and dashed toward the hilltop.

  “Captain, are the women unharmed?” he called, pulling on the reins.

  “Your lady is sound and safe, my lord.” The captain dismounted and removed his helmet, shuffling his feet, head down. “But the queen is missing.”

  “Missing?” A ray of hope stirred inside Mattacks’ chest. “Are you certain?”

  The soldier nodded slowly. “In the confusion, no one saw what happened, but she cannot be found, and her mare is gone.”

  “Did the enemy take her?” Mattack’s words sounded lighter than he intended.

  The captain’s eyes rounded as if the thought had not occurred to him. “It is possible, my prince.”

  What a stroke of luck! Had God finally tired of the heathen bitch and conveniently snatched her out of the way? Hiding his jubilation, Mattacks spat on the dusty ground. “Bury the dead, load the wounded on the carts, and have Ceinwyn see to them.”

  “But the queen’s private guards will want to search for her, my prince.”

  “You have your orders, captain.” Mattacks pulled his helmet back on. “I will search for the queen myself.”

  “Alone, my prince?” The frown and the surprise in the weathered face could only betray the captain’s admiration for such courage.

  Mattacks could not help but smile. “I’m a good tracker, and one man will not be as conspicuous. Besides, the guards are needed to protect the women and children.”

  “As you command, my prince.”

  “When all are ready, lead the convoy back home. I shall catch up with you after I find the queen... if she can be found.”

  The captain saluted and hurried toward the party gathered around the ox carts on the road.

  Riding in the direction the enemy had taken, Mattacks considered his options. Searching for the queen could lead to finding her, and he had no desire to see her return. If not captured, she could be dead or wounded, of course. But even unharmed, no unescorted woman could survive the ride to Dumfries on a cutthroat-infested road... not without guards. The best way to insure that the queen remained lost was to leave and forget about her. If God willed it so, He would keep her away from Dumfries for good.

  Mattacks rode until the Roman road disappeared from view behind a grassy knoll. There, he rested his horse and knelt in the cool meadow to pray. Forgive me, Lord, for having failed time and again in my attempts to rid the land of the heathen queen. I promise to do penance upon my return. I thank Thee for Thy fortuitous help today. May this demonstration of Thy powers inspire me to serve Thee better in the future.

  After spending a few hours in prayer, Mattacks concocted a believable story. A simple half truth would work in his favor. He would attest to searching the entire area and finding no trace of Pressine or her captors.

  For all he knew, the she-devil could have joined the enemy, been struck by God, or flown directly into hell. It did not matter which. She was gone, and the world was better for it. As the sun started to set behind gold and red clouds, Mattacks mounted his stallion and headed south to catch up with the train.

  * * *

  Pressine opened her eyes to a dark, starry night. A half moon shone on the silvery leaves of tall oaks, and the deep-throated song of toads competed with the chirping of insects. Against her back, the earth felt cool as she lay on damp moss. When she attempted to turn her head, a painful throb reminded her of the blow to her head. She probed the knot on her forehead and flinched.

  Righting herself stiffly, Pressine checked for further damage but found none. No broken bones. She extended her supernatural senses to her abdomen. The babies seemed unaffected, she realized with relief.

  She glanced around in the moonlight and saw the white mare grazing in a nearby clearing. Pressine thanked the Goddess for her bond with the gentle animal. She rose clumsily to her feet and emitted a soft whistle. “Come here, girl.”

  The mare looked up then walked to Pressine and nudged her shoulder. After leading the mare to a protruding rock she could use as a step stool, Pressine heaved herself in the saddle with difficulty. Then, despite her dizziness, she scrutinized the stars to orient herself, grateful for the lack of clouds. Retracing the path of her previous flight, she rode at a slow canter.

  Finally, she recognized the outline of the fated hillock. How had the battle ended? Where was everyone? How many had died? No trace remained of the traveling party, except for the mounds of fresh dirt half way up the hillock from the road. Mattacks must have won. The enemy wouldn’t have bothered to bury the dead. But why hadn’t her personal guards searched for her?

  Pressine focused her senses on the road ahead but only felt dizzy. A pang of nausea prevented her from using her gifts to find out if her loved ones were safe. Her weakness could be from hunger, but she had no food, and it was too early in the season to feed on wild berries.

  Filled with uncertainty, Pressine started down the Roman road in the same direction the convoy was following when it stopped. If she rode night and day, she might catch up with them. And if by a horrible fate, however improbable, they had been taken by the enemy, she had to warn the fortress of Dumfries of the Northumbrian attack on their noblewomen.

  Letting the horse rest now and then, Pressine could reach home in three days. That was a long time to go without food in her condition. While she still had some strength, she wove a protective glamour spell to hide herself and the mare from human eyes.

  Pressine avoided any living soul, campfire, village, or other sign of civilization for fear of becoming the target of cutthroats and brigands. She didn’t know where the enemy lay and could trust no travelers. Relying on the mare to get her home, she fell into a stupor.

  Hunger gnawed at her gut. During moments of clarity, she could feel the distress of the bairns in her womb. The babies had the gifts, and she thanked the Goddess for it. She had to get home, if not for herself, for the three little girls due to be born in a few months.

>   Weaving in and out of consciousness, Pressine must have passed out from weakness or exertion. Miraculously, she remained in the saddle while the mare plugged along ruts and overgrown trails, wandering on and off the road. Too exhausted and faint, Pressine trusted the mare.

  She had lost track of time when she finally saw Dumfries’ gray ramparts crowning the hillock overlooking the confluent of the two rivers. Relief flooded her. Even the mare picked up the pace. As the castle folk rushed toward her on the road, Pressine realized her glamour spell no longer held. Despite her sorry condition, she grinned triumphantly as she rode through the gate. She had survived, and so would her unborn daughters.

  At the castle, no news had filtered in from the Edling’s convoy, and Pressine’s account of the Northumbrian attack brought general consternation. The next day, however, as Pressine recovered from her ordeal, the horn of a sentinel announced an arrival.

  A young lass ran into Pressine’s bedchamber with a wide grin. “My lady, Prince Mattacks and the rest of the royal family are approaching the fortress.”

  “Thank the Goddess, they are safe!” Relieved beyond words, Pressine forgot her fatigue and went out to meet the train at the gate, wondering what had happened to them. She must have passed them on the road. Her recollection of the trip faltered. In her muddled state, hidden by the glamour, she could have ridden past them, unseeing and unseen, while they bivouacked at night.

  Family and soldiers seemed alive enough, and their surprise at the sight of Pressine varied immensely, from the delirious joy of Ceinwyn to the puzzled looks of Pressine’s guards. But the most comical by far was the mix of horror and fury on Mattacks’ face as he spat in the dirt three times. Then he spurred his stallion and took off at a gallop toward the stables, as if he had seen a hellish monster.

  * * *

  The Northumbrian clash lasted through the summer with many skirmishes and battles, so Pressine did not see Elinas during the last three moons of her pregnancy. Too busy organizing the defense of town and castle, Mattacks had not bothered the pregnant queen. Besides, Pressine’s Fae gifts had come back stronger as soon as she recovered from the grueling journey.

  She also suspected that the triplets growing inside her enhanced her powers. Feeling invincible, Pressine blossomed. The happy glow on her face grew more obvious each time she checked in the mirror. Too bad Elinas was not home to see it.

  One afternoon, while embroidering by the open window in the warm rays of the sun, Pressine sang to the unborn lasses in her womb. It familiarized them with enchanted melodies reserved to the Fae folk. At the end of the song, she shifted her heavy body in the chair and sighed, enjoying the peaceful scent of sage and laurel on the summer breeze. With her mind, Pressine reached for her unborn daughters, infusing them with maternal love. She could feel the three separate entities, one of them much stronger.

  “I love you, little ones,” Pressine whispered, caressing her swollen belly. “I must find you lovely names.”

  My name is Melusine, a child’s voice declared boldly in Pressine’s mind. My sisters are Meliora and Palatina. They are asleep now, but they do not mind if I speak for them.

  Stunned by the extent of the unborn child’s ability, Pressine dropped her embroidery and applied both hands to her belly. “You can speak to me thus? How wonderful!”

  And I know much more than you can believe.

  “Really?” Pressine marveled at the child’s gifts. Glancing around to make sure no servant lurked close enough to hear, she felt glad for her relative seclusion. “I never heard these names before.”

  These were our names since we lived long ago and wielded great powers. The clear voice of little Melusine carried authority.

  Remembering Morgane’s teachings about the journeys of the soul through successive bodies, Pressine asked aloud, “Are you ancient spirits?”

  Without hesitation, the young voice answered, From times immemorial... Among the first angels to alight on Earth.

  Pressine frowned, flooded by sudden doubt. “Angels of light? Or renegades?”

  A slight tremor, almost like a bairn’s laugh, coursed through her body.

  Angels are angels, mother. The unborn lass sounded amused. We are beautiful, intelligent, powerful, and knowledgeable. Good and evil are ever changing human notions.

  Although the child had a valid point, Pressine wanted to know what sort of power grew inside her. “Did you worship the Goddess back then?”

  Some of us did. That amused tone, again. She holds great power, yet she only serves a limited purpose.

  Although flabbergasted at such lack of respect, Pressine asked, “What purpose? Limited to what?”

  I am tired, the child announced with obvious boredom. I shall rest now.

  The sudden silence in her mind made Pressine long for Melusine’s voice. Awed and overjoyed by the discovery, she smiled as she gazed out the window, her embroidery all but forgotten on the rug. Outside, birds chirped in the hawthorn.

  “Melusine, Meliora, Palatina,” she murmured to the wind, like a soft melody. “I could not have found prettier names.”

  Pressine wished her laying in would come quickly. She couldn’t wait to hold her children in her arms.

  “Melusine, Meliora, Palatina,” she repeated like a litany.

  * * *

  As Pressine’s time drew close, mid-wives and wet nurses took up residence in the queen’s chambers. Pressine had never felt better, and when the moment came, she faced it with great confidence. While the women around her expected difficulties due to her huge abdomen, Pressine knew the Goddess had already blessed her daughters and would make the birth easy for them all.

  She spent little time in labor. Within moments of her first contractions, as if prompted by the Goddess Herself, the babies popped out one after the other, each with a healthy first cry. Pressine called her first daughter Melusine, the second Meliora, and the third Palatina. As expected, they looked perfect in every way, and Melusine seemed stronger than the others.

  The babies came so fast that Pressine had no time to contact Elinas through her gifts. After the births, as Pressine knew would happen, her powers vanished for the duration of her confinement. How she wished she could share her happiness with Elinas... Remembering the curse, however, Pressine quickly erased the thought from her mind. The longer he remained away, the better.

  * * *

  As soon as the news of the royal births spread through the castle, Mattacks knew the opportunity had finally come to prove his dedication to the Christian cause. He stopped pacing the length of his bedchamber to face the captain of his personal guard. “Do you understand everything?”

  The soldier bowed. “I think so, my prince. I tell the queen’s guards to be ready to ride out tonight for the battlefield, claiming the order comes from the king himself.”

  “Very good.” Mattacks smiled. The man was not so daft after all.

  The captain cleared his throat. “But what if the queen objects?”

  “The queen will be asleep and should not be bothered. She is confined, and her wet nurses are loyal to me. She will not know until they are gone. I am counting on your discretion, Captain.”

  By force of habit, the guard straightened at the sound of his title. “Of course, my prince.”

  Chuckling at the man’s simplicity, Mattacks went on. “If the ruse goes as planned, how would you like a small farm to retire, and a title for your loyal services?”

  A look of wonder crossed the old soldier’s face. He bowed deeply. “My family and I would be eternally grateful, my lord.”

  Mattacks congratulated himself for having found the man’s weakness. “Go, then, with God’s blessing.”

  After the captain left, Mattacks grinned contentedly. His smile faded as he remembered every slight, every humiliation he had known at the hands of the heathen queen. But he also remembered what Ceinwyn had told him, a long time ago, about a curse. If surprised in childbed by the king, the queen would forever disappear from his life.

/>   The plan would fool everyone. Mattacks would be rid of Pressine more effectively than if he had killed her with his own hands. He would be far away when that happened, and the king would have only himself to blame for the queen’s disappearance.

  Mattacks grinned, widely impressed with his own cleverness.

  Chapter Twelve

  By the light of the waning moon, Mattacks watched the queen's personal guard lining up in the courtyard, in a clinking of mail and weapons. Nervously, he donned his helmet and pulled on riding gloves, then took the stallion's bridle from a stable lad. Hours from now, at cockcrow, when the queen awakened to feed the bairns, her entire guard would have been replaced by Mattacks’ men.

  As he mounted the black beast, then glanced around the moonlit courtyard, Mattacks chuckled with glee. His guards outside Pressine’s chambers would forbid anyone to come near the building sheltering the triplets, except the wet nurses or the king himself. The she-devil was done in.

  Now remained the task of playing the dutiful son, by telling the king the wonderful news of the triple birth. Today, Mattacks would win more than one decisive battle.

  He signaled the men to follow him. Then, spurring the black stallion, Mattacks rode out through the main gate and into the night.

  * * *

  Elinas could not believe Mattacks had left the castle defenseless, and even less that Pressine had deserted her children soon after giving birth. But the fact that her guard had come in reinforcement confirmed that Pressine must have left Dumfries.

  “It is true, father...” Mattacks huffed, still winded from his reckless ride to the camp. “She abandoned her wee daughters with the wet nurses and fled to her aunt’s side in a rush!”

  Confused, Elinas watched Mattacks in silence. The Edling looked uncomfortable in the mail coat, helmet under his arm, booted feet shuffling the dust. The late summer breeze ruffled his long black hair. Elinas could see himself at a younger age, slimmer, full of vigor. Under his father’s gaze, Mattacks averted his brown eyes toward the square tents and beyond, to the soldiers patrolling the perimeter, as if appraising the organization of the military camp.