Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned...
Mattacks’ voice cracked as he screamed like a wounded beast. Was he already experiencing Hell? Would this fiery torment ever end? His heart faltered as he choked on the smoke, then peace and oblivion freed him from the unbearable torture of the flames.
Chapter Fourteen
Lost Isle, 827 AD
“Pressine, I have news!”
Interrupted in her meditations, Pressine turned to see Morgane, winded and red-faced, reaching the top of Mount Elenore. Although fifteen years had passed since the day Pressine had returned to the Lost Isle on the accursed whirlwind, neither woman had aged.
“I knew I would find you here,” Morgane scolded gently. Pulling her shawl snug, she sat next to Pressine, on the stone slab below the black statue of the Goddess.
Breathing in the salty ocean breeze, Pressine turned her gaze to the lavender sea that sparkled with the first rays of dawn. “In all these years, I never missed a day of seeking him at daybreak. When he awakes and his mind is peaceful I can sometimes sense him. I convey my love, and how much I miss him.”
A gust of wind blew strands of black hair off Morgane’s braid. “There is no point in searching for him. Wherever he is, the curse prevents you from seeing each other.”
“I know. But I miss him.” Beyond the mist, Pressine scanned the horizon toward the faraway coast of Britannia. “I blame myself. I should have sensed the danger, taken precautions. If only he had trusted me. But no. He chose to believe his treacherous son.”
Morgane laid a gentle hand on Pressine’s shoulder. “Mortals are weak.” She glanced up at the black statue. “Ironically, the Goddess often forces us to depend on them.”
“When I reach out to Elinas, sometimes I feel his pain echoing mine.” Pressine held her tears, but her voice trembled. “I wish I could see him, just once.”
“You will get your chance soon enough.” Morgane squeezed Pressine’s arm. “When he is about to die, the curse will fade... and mortals die young.”
Tears wet Pressine’s cheeks. Over the years, the painful wound in her heart had remained as a dull ache. “With all that talk of floods, famine, and war, I fear for him. Not to mention the wolves, and the ghastly diseases that kill people and animals alike.”
The muffled sound of the surf breaking on the beach below filled the silence. Then Morgane sighed and looked down, brushing imaginary grass from the hem of her blue priestess shift. “A boat came this morning with news of Elinas.”
“News of him? Pray tell!” Pressine’s heart beat faster... the first news in three years.
“Rumor has it that he butchered his old horse last winter for lack of food.”
“What a horrible thing!” Pressine shivered as she remembered the magnificent dappled gray.
“But he still roams the land on foot, searching for you. Some say the king has lost his mind.” Morgane gazed over the sea. “He was sighted as far as the kingdoms of Dalriada, and Mercia, but he keeps moving about, and no one knows for sure where he is at present.”
“Oh!” Pressine could not hide her disappointment. But it warmed her to know that Elinas never gave up his search over the years.
“A fisherman reported other news from Dumfries.” Morgane smiled sadly. “I fear you will not like it.”
“Tell me anyway.” In such a secluded place, Pressine welcomed any news from those whose lives she once shared.
Morgane rearranged her blue shift thoughtfully. “Three winters ago, King Conan’s children died of the plague.”
With a pang, Pressine remembered them as toddlers. “Children are always the first to die. Ceinwyn must have been devastated.” Pressine wanted to comfort the grieving mother. She still remembered the pain of losing her unborn baby, although that was so long ago.
Morgane shifted on the flat rock to face her niece. “Bodvar’s Vikings have invaded Alba. They are building new fortresses on the estuaries. From there, they control most of the land, using the waterways. They steal what little food the farmers have and enslave the population, spreading terror.”
The horror of such exploitation made Pressine want to heave. “How cruel, and in such dire times!”
Morgane shook her head. “I cannot believe Bodvar broke his word and attacked Alba, even as I hold in my power two of his sons. Njal is angry at him, and Ivar, who never met his father, is curious.”
“Mortals are unreliable.” Pressine averted her gaze toward the sparkling waters, to hide the hurt she felt when reminded of human betrayal. “I am surprised the truce lasted this long. Besides, Prince Bodvar knows you would never harm an innocent.”
“I have done much worse, believe me.” Morgane’s voice held a challenging edge.
Surprised by the steely retort, Pressine frowned. “Perhaps you should send Njal to Bodvar as an emissary of peace, to remind his father of his promise.”
“No.” Morgane’s tone of finality barred no argument. “With the pestilence decimating the population I would not risk him. Njal has a family to protect and care for.”
“Send your own son, then. His Fae blood makes him impervious to diseases.”
Morgane’s gray eyes narrowed in warning. “Ivar?”
Pressine ignored her aunt’s overt warning stare. “Is it not time for the boy to meet his father? Bodvar never saw him, but there is no denying the resemblance.”
“I still see him as a child, but he has become a man.” A faint smile danced on Morgane’s lips. “It is also time you told your daughters about their father.”
Pressine lowered her gaze to hide her embarrassment. “I never found the courage...”
“You should tell them, and soon, before they resent you for keeping it a secret. At the threshold of womanhood, Fae lasses can be dangerously impulsive.” Morgane raised her brow. “Remember when you were their age?”
Pressine gazed south, toward her native Bretagne. “Impulsive, yes. It was near my fifteenth birthday that I made my father’s new bride barren, and Mother cursed me and exiled me for it.”
“At least, you had the good sense to come to me.” Morgane’s concern sounded amusing after the fact. “But now you must watch over your daughters. They are very powerful, especially Melusine. She has the potential to bring about great changes in the human realm. I only hope her wisdom matches her might.”
Pressine wondered about that, too. “Unfortunately, wisdom takes time. I wish Melusine’s sisters would not idolize her so. They would throw themselves from this cliff if she asked.”
“Speaking of your angels,” Morgane glanced down the slope. “Here they come for their daily lesson. Remember, do not keep secrets from them.”
Pressine turned her head in the direction of young voices. She saw Melusine running toward her, while her two identical sisters in white maiden shifts, skipped, chatted and laughed under a shower of pink apple blossoms.
Melusine Reached the two seated women first. “What secrets?” she asked pointedly, without the slightest blush of shame about using her powers for eavesdropping. “What more is there to learn?”
“Hello, Mother, hello, Aunt Morgane.” Meliora, out of breath, plopped down in the dewy grass in front of the two women.
“More knowledge?” Palatina studied the two women calmly and sat down, straightening her white shift. “After shaking the earth, raising the storm, traveling on the wind, and summoning monsters from the deep, I thought we had covered everything.”
“Not quite.” Pressine suppressed a chuckle in the face of such innocence. “You still have much to learn.” She glanced at Morgane for support and received a reassuring nod. “Today, however, we shall not practice our gifts but speak about your mortal father.”
“Our father?” Meliora’ eyes widened. “But you told us long ago that Fae lasses didn’t need one.”
Palatina narrowed her eyes. “You lied to us?”
“No. I said you do not need a father to live your life.” Pressine corrected patiently. “But every one of us has one.”<
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“Why did you not tell us about him?” Melusine’s sharp tone was meant to provoke. She dropped between her sisters, plucked a stalk of sweet grass and chewed on it.
Pressine found Melusine’s abruptness disturbing but managed not to react. “I avoided the question when you were too young to understand. Now that you are old enough, the time has come for you to learn about your father.”
Smiling in approval, Morgane rose from the stone slab and walked away quietly down the green slope toward the orchard. Pressine could not escape the painful explanation. Too late to change the topic now. As if sensing the importance of this lesson, the three lasses arranged their skirts and shifted to more comfortable positions.
Harnessing her courage, Pressine relived the story as she spoke of Bodvar the Viking Prince, and her brother Gwenvael who went to live with the Vikings. She told a tale of love, sweet surrender, castle life, glorious battles and blessed abundance. Then she related her persecutions at the hands of Mattacks, and finally, her husband’s blindness to the wicked ruses of his treacherous son, that led to the manifestation of the curse.
Barely able to control the emotions threatening to engulf her, Pressine struggled to suppress her anger and stated the facts as objectively as possible. And as she considered her daughters, she understood something about Elinas. How could one not trust his own flesh and blood? Like Pressine, who would always love and trust her precious daughters.
Despite her efforts, however, she could not help the traces of sarcasm and frustration in her voice as she related the last part of the tale. To spare her daughters, she omitted a few gory details and did not place any blame, choosing instead to emphasize the natural weakness of mortals. Let it be a warning to them.
“And the next thing I saw when I looked up,” she concluded, dabbing at her tears with the hem of her sleeve, “was the statue of the Great Goddess, perched on top of Mount Elenore.” Pressine glanced up at the statue behind her and sighed. “Never, trust a mortal! If, blinded by love, you ever make that mistake, the Goddess will make you regret it.”
The girls, spellbound by the revelation, remained silent. The gentle sea breeze carried the cry of a seagull and the faint sound of breaking waves.
Melusine tossed her pretty dark head, sending loose hair floating on the wind. “So, our father broke his promise, and that’s why we live here instead of Dumfries castle? That’s why the land is suffering? You should be queen, and we princesses. It is our birthright!”
Pressine laughed at her daughter’s blunt outrage. “A birthright has no merit unless it is earned, daughter.”
Meliora frowned in confusion. “Is that why your heart is broken? And why you will not mate around the Beltane fires?”
Pressine flushed under her daughters’ scrutiny. “Perhaps... I loved your father very much.”
“But how could you let this happen?” Serious beyond her years, Palatina raised grave gray eyes. “With all your Fae powers, you did nothing at all?”
“I did plenty... as much as was allowed.” Pressine protested sadly. “After the curse manifested and the Goddess had spoken, there was nothing I could do but accept my fate.”
A stubborn scowl on her face, Melusine erupted. “It’s not fair!”
“I know, Child, but life rarely is.”
Palatina pointed to the statue of the Goddess, perched on the rock above them. “So, that is the statue the bishop called a black Madonna?”
Meliora giggled. “What a pea-brain.”
“Do not judge, Meliora.” Pressine refrained from laughing. “Mortals tend to shape everything into their own personal beliefs.”
“Daft as a goat if you ask me!” Melusine blurted. “Anybody can see it’s the Great Goddess. She looks like us, she dresses like us, she even used to carry a raven on her shoulder, and she wears her hair like our priestesses!”
Pressine smiled with indulgence. “I have to admit that Bishop Renald was not the brightest man. Still, in the great scheme of things, he served his purpose, as does everyone else.”
“What does our father look like?” Palatina’s intelligent gaze pierced Pressine.
The resurgence of happy memories made Pressine smile. “He is probably old and gray now, but when I met him, he was proud and noble, with a strong black-stubbled jaw, soft brown eyes, and long black hair. And he rode a magnificent steed, a dappled gray.”
“Does he love us?” Only Meliora would ask that question.
“How could he?” Melusine shouted. “Look at what he did to us!”
“Shush!” Pressine’s injunction brought immediate silence. “Your father laid eyes on you only once, but in that short moment, I saw in his eyes all the love of a father for his children. In all these years, he never stopped searching for us. I know he misses you very much.”
“Really?” Wide-eyed, Meliora seemed overjoyed at the news.
“What I want to know,” Melusine said, a little subdued, “is what happened to the enchanted sword. Caliburn is it?”
“Caliburn...” Pressine considered her astute daughter with pride. “Well, the Great Goddess in her wisdom returned the sword of power to the secret cave where the Ladies of the Lost Isle guard it.” She imbued her voice with mysterious depth. “But Caliburn will rise again when the proper time comes.”
* * *
That night, on her pallet of sweet grass, young Melusine could not sleep. Eyes wide open, she listened to the sounds of the night. A dog barked in the distance, an owl hooted nearby. The more she thought about her human father, the more she resented the man who had caused such despair to her mother and condemned her and her sisters to a commoner’s life. She now resented carrying water, doing chores, and living in a simple hut while she could live grandly in a castle with servants.
All these years, her mother had worked the fields at harvest time. She spun wool and wove like a peasant on winter nights, claiming that a simple life taught true values... Melusine understood better now. Her mother tried to forget that she should have remained a powerful queen, served and entertained.
She remembered the laughter catching in her mother’s throat. She had never seemed carefree or happy in all of fifteen years. Now Melusine knew why. Her mother’s life had been shattered by a daft, callous oaf of a king.
Melusine found solace in the fact that her mother’s bitterness bore a name, Elinas of Dumfries, former king of Strathclyde, a treacherous and unreliable mortal. While she focused her mind to envision him, her impetuous heart yearned for revenge.
* * *
“I even found the perfect place.” Standing in the tall grass near the spring, Melusine paused to give her two sisters time to digest the information. She tossed her long hair aside.
“I once heard Aunt Morgane talk about a crystal cave under the magic mountain of Brumborenlion in Northumbria. That’s where she imprisoned Merlin himself for a very long time.” Melusine graced the two fifteen-year-old with a cool piercing gaze that forbade any contrary comment. “We could imprison our father there. Do you like my idea?”
Her siblings stopped dangling their legs from the side of the boulder on which they sat. Both stared back in silence, undisguised awe on their faces. The water pails lay forgotten in a patch of clover near the bubbly spring, while the soft breeze carried bird songs and the faint scent of cherry blossoms.
Melusine smiled inwardly. How different the three of them really were, despite their uncanny resemblance. Her sisters would follow her lead. They always did.
Palatina looked as serious as Lady Morgane, with her hair neatly caught back in a ribbon. “I never thought of it before, but I can see that our mother is very unhappy. We can accomplish everything you said, but what if we are mistaken about our father king?”
“He brought about our mother’s curse. What could be worse than that?” And Melusine would make sure he paid for his evil deed.
Palatina’s dark brow shot up above calm gray eyes. “But what if he is innocent? Before condemning him, we should hear his own version o
f the events.”
“Why not?” Distractedly, Melusine swatted at a buzzing bee threatening to tangle in her long tresses. “But if he caused our mother’s suffering, as I believe he did, then he must get what he deserves.”
“The punishment sounds harsh.” Meliora paled under her crown of wild flowers. “What a horrible fate!”
“Do not be squeamish, Meliora. The punishment must fit the crime.” Melusine gazed at the sky when a gust of wind shook the leaves of nearby poplars, but she felt no divine presence. The Great Goddess was not guiding her today. No matter. Melusine didn’t need anyone. “If King Elinas understood what would happen and did it anyway, he deserves much worse. We are showing mercy by letting him live.”
The flower Meliora twirled in her fingers fell apart. “Why not tell mother? She could help us! And we would not have to lie.”
“We shall not lie.” Melusine barely controlled her impatience. “We just omit certain parts of our plan. Knowing our mother’s soft heart, she might feel sorry for the old king and forbid us to punish him.”
Palatina nodded. “She would. And if we shield ourselves, mother cannot pry into our minds to find out.”
Melusine stared at both sisters in turn. “Will you help me with this?”
Palatina stared back gravely. “I am with you.”
Meliora flashed a charming smile. “Where you lead, we shall follow.”
Melusine’s heart filled with joy at her victory. “Good! But you must swear secrecy before the Great Goddess and Gofannon, the Master of the Underworld.”
Palatina frowned. “Such a vow will bind us until the end of times!”
“Exactly!” Melusine smiled cooly. “That is the whole purpose of invoking the Master of the Underworld is it not?”
Palatina nodded. “As long as we remain fair and just, I will swear it.”
Meliora wrinkled her nose then bit her lips. “So will I.”
Curse of the Lost Isle Special Edition Page 36