Curse of the Lost Isle Special Edition

by Vijaya Schartz

  Lovingly, Melusine looked upon her child dressed in embroidered white linen. The baby watched her every move in silence from inside her wicker basket. “No regrets, little one? Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  Do not fret, mother, I shall be fine.

  Although Liutgarde’s Fae blood was thinned by Sigefroi’s ancestry, Melusine couldn’t help imagining that contact with holy water must be painful still. Despite the many assurances that Liutgarde would be fine, her mind rebelled at the idea of subjecting an innocent babe to potential harm.

  But she must comply. The Goddess ordered it, and it was her daughter’s explicit will. The old soul in the baby’s body had decided her own fate.

  She pinned on her head the white veil that concealed her long flowing hair. “Ouch.”

  She’d pricked herself with the pin. Why was such a contrivance a requirement for women at high mass? She licked the drop of blood then she plucked the child from the basket.

  Holding Liutgarde in her arms, she proceeded with trembling steps toward the council chamber, where the ceremony would take place, while the servants prepared the knights’ hall for the lavish feast to follow.

  * * *

  Sigefroi repressed a smile as Adalberon’s cool gaze scanned the council chamber, decorated with holly boughs and transformed for the occasion into a temporary place of worship.

  “This arrangement is not acceptable for a knight of your stature.” Adalberon, in purple robes and full ceremonial vestment, spread a parchment on the table that would serve as an altar. “This room, however spacious, is not properly consecrated for a baptism.”

  Sigefroi had anticipated his brother’s comment. “We do have a small chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary... a special request from Lady Melusine. But it wouldn’t hold all the guests.”

  “You ought to build a decent church on the castle grounds, brother, even a cathedral. I know you can afford it.” Adalberon paused, as if to give weight to his words. “His Holiness would be glad to place a bishop in residence here as a spiritual guide. God knows you and your flock need one. I could recommend a friend.”

  “No, Adalberon.” Sigefroi considered his brother coldly. Although he loved his sibling, he would not tolerate religious interference in his affairs. “No bishop will flourish in my lands to dictate how I live my life and rule my domain. And I’ll certainly not have one in my home. I thought I made myself clear on that matter.”

  “Such sacrilegious words!” The tone could be misconstrued as a jest, but Adalberon was not smiling. “Were you not my brother, I might take umbrage and report you to the pope in Rome.”

  “Since when does a brother of mine take religion so seriously?” Sigefroi searched Adalberon’s familiar face. They had a lifetime of brotherly trust behind them. “You would never dare betray me.”

  “Of course not... unless it is for your own salvation. After all, it is my responsibility to see my brothers in the fold of Holy Mother Church.” Adalberon returned to his parchment and wrote in a fluid and regular script. “For the proper recording of your daughter’s baptism, what is your wife’s Christian name, and the name of her godparents?”

  Taken aback, Sigefroi masked his confusion with practiced assurance. “It never came up. She only mentioned Melusine of Strathclyde.”

  “I know of no Christian saint by that name.” Adalberon arched a questioning brow. “Could it be possible that she was never baptized?”

  “How could you entertain such a notion?” The thought had never occurred to Sigefroi, but deep inside, it bothered him not to know. “A woman of her education, who speaks fluent Latin and Greek and has read all the sacred texts, couldn’t possibly be a heathen.”

  “Aye.” Adalberon’s unsettling gaze fixed on Sigefroi. “Yet, I heard of stranger happenstance. We live in a world where all is not always as it appears, brother. Remember that Lucifer once was God’s brightest angel. He can still radiate great light to seduce the best among us.”

  Heat rose to Sigefroi’s face. “Don’t you dare compare my wife to the devil!”

  Arriving Yuletide guests gathered and stood in polite conversation, only a few steps away from the altar.

  From the back of the room, Gunter in full knight regalia, wearing his father’s coat of arms, motioned to Sigefroi, catching his attention.

  Sigefroi nodded in understanding and turned to Adalberon. “Here she comes with the baby. She can give you the answers you seek.”

  Among the crowd of guests, Sigefroi watched Melusine make her way toward him, displaying the baby for the growing crowd of curious guests, answering good wishes and compliments with her most charming smile.

  When she reached the two brothers, Sigefroi elbowed Adalberon’s arm. “Go ahead, ask her!”

  “Ask me what?” Melusine set her precious load on the altar table, next to the Bishop’s miter, then, as if having an afterthought, she took the child back into her arms.

  Adalberon remained silent. Was he shocked by Melusine’s casualness at the altar?

  “Melusine,” Sigefroi cleared his voice. “Adalberon wants to know your Christian saint name and that of your godparents. I could not remember you ever mentioning them.”

  Did he imagine it, or did Melusine pale at the simple question?

  “Oh, that?” Her disarming smile erased any doubt Sigefroi might have had about her innocence. “We have so many local saints in Strathclyde, Your Grace, I’m not surprised you never heard of Sainte Melusine. Her humble deeds probably never reached all the way to Rome. And the tradition of giving godparents is just starting in my native land, a hundred years behind the times, I’m afraid. I never had any godparents myself.”

  “Really?” Adalberon’s superior attitude poisoned the warm ambiance. “Then, who saw to your religious education, my child?”

  “My mother, my aunt, and the congregation of holy women who raised me.” Melusine sounded candid as a young maiden.

  “A convent?” Adalberon looked her over with subtle disapproval. “No wonder you are too educated for a woman.”

  Sigefroi chose to ignore the derogatory comment. “There, are you satisfied, brother?”

  “Aye... for now.” As if avoiding Sigefroi’s gaze, Adalberon dutifully recorded on his parchment the information imparted.

  * * *

  Toward the end of high mass, after communion, the Bishop motioned the nobles to come to the side of the room where a deep stone basin stood on a pedestal. It was full of holy water, an abomination by Fae standards.

  The contrivance scared Melusine more than slow painful death. She’d heard that on rare occasions, holy water had been said to melt the flesh from the bones of Fae folks. She shuddered at the thought then reminded herself the Goddess had promised Liutgarde would be fine.

  Melusine was glad she wouldn’t have to hold her daughter over the baptismal font. Traditionally, Liutgarde’s godparents would.

  Hiding her growing dread, she handed her daughter to Gunter, the child’s godfather, and followed at a safe distance while the guests formed a wide circle around the baptismal font.

  Since the godmother, the Duchess of High Lorraine, wife of Frederick, could not attend, Lady Alyx, of Melusine’s entourage took her place at Gunter’s side. Melusine and Sigefroi stood behind them, but Adalberon motioned the parents to come closer.

  Melusine resisted Sigefroi’s pull on her arm and held back.

  “What’s the matter?” Sigefroi raised an eyebrow.

  “Nothing... I just feel faint.” Melusine forced a weak smile.

  “You look a little pale. Come here, I’ll support you. You don’t want to miss our daughter’s baptism.” Firmly supporting her arm and her waist, Sigefroi led her to the edge of the basin, much too close for Melusine’s comfort.

  In an effort to master her fear, she concentrated on her daughter’s face.

  Liutgarde seemed serene and unafraid. When Adalberon dropped a grain of salt on her tongue, she grimaced, to the delight of the assembled guests. Then, the bishop d
ipped one hand in the water basin, reciting the Latin ritual.

  Among the flames of the tallow candles reflecting in the still water of the baptismal font, Melusine perceived movement. Suddenly, the water came alive, as when she consulted her divining basin, and a scene of pure horror overwhelmed her vision.

  The din of battle assailed her senses. Weapons clunked, men screamed, horses shrieked and pounded the wet earth. Melusine smelled smoke, sweat, and the sweet sickening scent of blood. Among the carnage lit by a blazing village, Sigefroi in battle gear rode his destrier like a bloody demon, hacking off hands, ears and noses.

  Riveted, Melusine watched as crimson swirls tainted the waters of an unknown river. On the strange shores, the Knight of Luxembourg wielded Caliburn, mercilessly massacring and maiming unarmed men, women, and children! The victims begged for mercy, but Sigefroi showed none. His cruel face exuded pure hatred, as if he were possessed by the dark angel himself.

  “No!” Melusine gasped when Gunter dipped Liutgarde’s crown of soft chestnut hair into the blood bath of the baptismal font where the battle raged. The child looked like a white lamb sacrificed to her father’s unholy wrath. The baby struggled and cried, splashing Melusine’s left hand with a tiny drop. Melusine jerked her hand back. Her flesh sizzled briefly, and she cried out at the searing pain.

  Sigefroi turned to support her, but Melusine stepped back. All she could see of her husband was the bloody face of a ruthless killer. Her muffled scream barely reached her ears as she slowly collapsed to the flagstone, blind and on the brink of losing consciousness.

  Chapter Ten

  Luxembourg castle, Easter, 964

  Melusine shivered in the embrasure of her open window. The unusual activity in the bailey down below attested to her imminent departure for Trier with Sigefroi. Servants loaded the carts with Melusine and Sigefroi’s personal effects, and with the heavy chests containing the gold to purchase their new domain and build their second castle.

  Uniformed guards wearing Luxembourg’s coat of arms formed the columns that would escort their convoy. Melusine stroked the tiny white scar above her left thumb where holy water had burned a small hole. It still hurt on cold days. The chilly dawn matched her state of mind. She had no desire to travel.

  Since Liutgarde’s baptism, Melusine had kept to her bedchamber, weak and exhausted all the time. Everyone attributed her weakness to the birth, but she knew better. She left her bed only on the days when she stole to the river through the extended secret passages. She had been too weak to supervise the construction, the digging, or even the day to day running of the castle.

  One tiny drop of holy water at Liutgarde’s baptism had sapped her strength and damaged her powers. They’d become faint, erratic and unwieldy. Melusine wondered whether or not they would ever return to their past brilliance.

  And what of her immortality? The Goddess had remained suspiciously silent on the subject. An opportunity to explore your own humanity, she’d suggested.

  Ever since the fated baptism, Melusine’s life had been miserably dull and lonely.

  After the vision in the baptismal font, nightmares of the same bloody massacre had haunted her sleep. When the dreams finally relented, she could have returned to her husband’s bed but didn’t have the heart to try, afraid to see blood on his face in their most intimate moments.

  How she missed him, though. Sigefroi had respected her reluctance to share his bed on account of her weakened state. After the first refusal, he had chosen to ignore her. Now she felt sorry for rejecting him.

  Melusine couldn’t possibly explain to this man who loved her the aversion brought by a vision of his senseless slaughter of innocents. He would deem her deranged... or worse. While avoiding her, he kept busy with construction, overseeing his estates, riding out to annex a neighboring village, or defend his new lands from pesky warlords and roaming brigands.

  Over the past weeks, however, Melusine’s repugnance for Sigefroi had faded away. She reasoned that not all visions of the future came true, and she fervently hoped this one wouldn’t. In any case, it wasn’t fair to hate him for a crime he hadn’t committed yet, and might never commit.

  Little Liutgarde provided no comfort. The baby had shunned her mother’s breast since her baptism and now thrived on the nursemaid’s milk, throwing a fit whenever in Melusine’s presence. Could Fae milk poison a mortal child? Could the baby hate her mother’s very nature, like the rest of Christendom? Or did her daughter resent the loss of her own powers?

  Isolated from those she loved, Melusine had lost her happy disposition. She felt hollow, like an abandoned husk after the threshing, useless, dejected, and utterly alone. Perhaps a change of scenery would rekindle her interest for life.

  “Are you ready, my lady?” Alyx, the smart young girl who had become her personal servant, didn’t seem affected by Melusine’s morose mood and had insisted she wear a bright yellow riding dress. “Our lord master is awaiting you at the stables with your mare.”

  The mention of the white mare brought a sunny thought. Was it only a year ago that Melusine had thundered down the hillside in full armor to give Sigefroi his first defeat? The memory awakened a passion for life she hadn’t felt in months. She had enjoyed the fight, wielding the magic blade and winning.

  In those carefree days, the future lay full of promise. Now, she feared she would never feel that way again. She missed her baby so much... Melusine could only imagine the torment her own mother had suffered in banishing her three daughters.

  As she followed Alyx outside, Melusine noticed the red and white banners fluttering in the pale dawn from the top of the new battlements and square towers. Sigefroi had followed her drawings perfectly in finishing the ramparts. She was proud of him for recognizing superior design and completing the task to perfection.

  “Be careful with that, don’t hurt your back!” Melusine told the menservants carrying the heavy trunk full of silver and gold for the purchase of the new estate.

  “Not to worry, m’lady,” one puffed, then they hoisted the oak coffer onto the cart.

  Surveying the bailey, Melusine spotted the wet nurse bringing Liutgarde to say farewell. Her heart filled with timid hope. Grateful that the woman had risen early to see her off with the baby, she smiled, then changed course to meet them half way.

  The wet nurse walked toward her slowly, her head bent under her hooded mantle, as if not to awaken the child. As she neared them, Melusine saw the face of the little bundle the woman carried. Liutgarde slept peacefully, like the angel she truly was.

  It had happened many times before. The child looking peaceful as long as she didn’t detect her mother’s presence. Melusine bit her lips. Did she dare wake the baby? Maybe just this once, the little one wouldn’t reject her? With a mother’s tender touch, she brushed a finger to the child’s cheek.

  Liutgarde’s eyelids flew open. Something akin to fear flashed in her blue-green eyes, then she fussed and her mouth contorted.

  “No, please, little one, don’t be afraid of me.” But Melusine’s words faded with her hope.

  The child squirmed in the nurse’s arms and bellowed, struggling to escape on her own. Heads turned around them. Melusine felt ashamed by her child’s rejection. Was she an unworthy mother?

  There was no point in denying that Liutgarde refused any dealings with her mother. Melusine had already tried to impose her presence on the child long enough to wear out her protests, like when taming wild animals... to no avail.

  On those instances, Liutgarde had cried herself to exhaustion, only to fall asleep and wake up to more screaming. The baby also refused to feed in Melusine’s presence, even from the wet nurse, and would have let herself die of starvation rather than remain close to her mother.

  Melusine regretfully gestured to the wet nurse to leave. Her throat constricted as she swallowed the lump in her throat. Her eyes filled with unshed tears, and a familiar sadness tugged at her chest. As much as she loved her daughter, she must let her go, for the child’s
sake.

  It was unseemly for ruling families to raise their own children anyway, but Melusine would have liked a chance at knowing her daughter. Longingly, she watched the nurse walk away around the corner of the guardhouse.

  Alyx, who now reached Melusine, gently took her arm. “Come, m’lady. Babies don’t know what’s good for them. She’ll grow out of that phase, you’ll see...”

  “Thank you, Alyx, for your kind words. I fervently hope she does.”

  With some reluctance, Melusine let herself be led. When the two women reached the stables, Sigefroi straightened and dismissed his captain with a brief command. Standing beside the white mare, he eyed Melusine warily, as if expecting trouble, and she wondered whether he had seen what had just happened. Then again, how could he have missed it?

  His gaze softened, and other emotions flooded his face. Compassion? Love? Longing? A warm smile etched his strong features. Immediately, Melusine felt a little better and attempted a smile of her own.

  The effect on Sigefroi was instantaneous. His grin widened as he gave the mare’s reins to a lad to help her mount. Pleased by the attention, Melusine nevertheless let out a sigh upon noticing the side-saddle.

  “I know you’d prefer to mount astride, dear wife.” Sigefroi winked then hoisted her unceremoniously upon the mare. “But the Bishop of Trier would look upon it as a serious breach of etiquette, and we don’t want to upset him before he sells us Saarburg.”

  His hand lingered on her thigh. Melusine wanted him to keep it there, but he let go when Thierry approached, leading Sigefroi’s black stallion.

  The squire had grown in the past months and looked gangly. His clear gaze strayed toward Alyx as he handed the warhorse to his master. Melusine smiled inwardly. How could she have missed the budding attraction between these two? Even her keen sense of observation had slipped. The two youngsters looked happy, in the early stages of falling in love.