***
The stallion was standing where William had left him. He approached the horse, talking softly. The horse raised his head, his wide-spaced, intelligent eyes studying William. Then, with an effort, he turned and walked away from the man. William followed behind, off to the side where the horse could see him clearly, still talking.
When the horse stopped, ears back, listening, William kept walking. He had almost reached his head when the horse whirled away from him. William stepped back out of the range of the horse’s back hooves, then circled to approach the stallion’s head.
This time, the animal stood, but when William placed a hand on his neck, his ears flattened back menacingly. William kept talking in a low voice, stroking the long neck until the ears relaxed into a listening attitude. Slipping a rope on him, William led the stallion to the river. There, William let the horse drink then led him into the water up to his belly and rubbed off the mud.
William had admired this horse on his last visit to the farm. He was tall compared to most horses William worked with; over fifteen hands. He had a nicely laid-back shoulder, a short, well-muscled back and loin, with a good slope to his rump. Even exhausted as he was, the stallion stepped well under himself, giving the promise of a good ride.
The cold water revived the horse, and William sensed a strong and lively spirit within the animal. He gave thanks that he had been able to keep that spirit within him.
“Okay boy, you’re as clean as I can get you, and I can’t find anything that won’t heal by itself,” William said.
As he turned the horse toward the shore, he heard the clatter of a wagon crossing the bridge. The wagon’s driver was a large man, but what caught his eye was the young woman sitting on the seat beside him. It wasn’t so much her features, for the distance was too far for clarity. Nor was it her long, strawberry blond hair, unprotected by the usual head cover, or the way she sat on the seat. It was something else—something the young man could not identify. Yet it was tangible—as real as the horse standing beside him.
A feeling ran through him; a lifting of his spirit … almost euphoria. The only explanation William could come up with for this sensation was that he had to be looking upon someone who was extraordinary.
Just then, as the wagon rolled off the bridge, she turned, looked down at William and smiled. William felt the exaltation again, and breathlessly, hoped it was something that she had felt, too.
Chapter 7
Claire had seen those heads explode, and heard Jorunn’s voice inside her head. She also trusted her grandfather with her life as was shown by the fact that she was now sitting next to a stranger, on the way to Odin knew where, on Siward’s word that this was the best for her. But now, Claire found her ability to accept what Jorunn was telling her strained, stretched, and finally, suspended.
Only her curiosity remained, and that just because the subject was stimulating. She listened to every word without belief or rejection. She merely took in the data and cataloged it, thinking there would come a day when she could prove or disprove it.
“She is called Edyth the Fair,” Jorunn Thora was saying. “There are several reasons for such a title. But, if you ask me, it is her milky white complexion that started it all.”
“Milky white?” Claire questioned.
“It’s a trademark feature of her kind.”
This time, Claire fought against the urge to ask, knowing that the answer could not possibly be to her liking. Holding her tongue did not save her. Jorunn had merely paused to gather his thoughts before he went on with his explanation.
“Edyth the Fair is a Piretian, a race of people who were brought to the Earth close to a million years ago.”
‘Right,’ Claire scowled up at Jorunn as she filed the information.
“She, like all the other Piretians now residing on this planet,” Jorunn went on, “was one of the few who survived a war that they had initiated shortly after their arrival here. The world was called Lantis at that time.
“The Piretians had the potential to be the complement of the resident race—the Lantians. Instead, they fought them. Neither race won that war, but a few survived. Those that lived did so by the grace of the gods, plus a process that the gods formulated. This not only saved them but gave the survivors immortality.”
‘Immortality … right,’ Claire bit her tongue to keep from saying what she was thinking.
“The Piretians and Lantians are opposite in nearly every way possible. Piretians are thin, pale, and brilliant, especially when it comes to scientific matters. It’s been said that they are the scientists from the heavens. Whereas, the Lantians are tall, muscular, attuned to nature, and in the ways of a magician, are able to bend life’s energies to their will.
“Science clashed with magic, destroying these two proud races and everything else upon the planet’s surface. When this world was renewed, and the humans replenished, the survivors of both races found they had inherited a curse, and developed an attitude. Their belief that humans were at the low end of the food chain allowed the curse that these two races carried to turn a significant number of people into, what the old stories tell us, are werewolves and vampires.”
Claire turned to Jorunn with horror written across her face.
“Claire,” Jorunn said, hurriedly, “that was what you witnessed the night you saw me tracking that gang. Werewolves, Claire. When I cut off their heads, it released the soul of the human that had been turned into the wolf. That was the explosion you saw.
“As for myself, I have taken on the vocation of a hunter. A hunter is almost always half human, with one parent being either Piretian or Lantian.”
“So, you’re telling me you’re only half human?” she said sarcastically. “What kind of fool do you take me for?”
“Right now, I only give you the truth. You can do with it what you will.” Jorunn met her fierce glare with a kind eye and held it until, unsure of the truth of the matter, Claire’s eyes dropped.
“My father was human,” Jorunn went on. “My mother, a Lantian. What I inherited from my mother allowed me to recognize you for who you are, Claire. And what my father gave me makes me want to help you. For at best, if you had stayed where you were, you would eventually have been considered … different.”
Claire gave a short laugh. “I already was, though not enough to be considered a danger.”
“You would have discovered more of your abilities as you went along. Already you’re well versed in language, reading, and writing. For a woman in Northumbria …” Jorunn shook his head. “Mind reading, which you inevitably will grasp, would have labeled you as an enemy of the church.”
“My grandfather wouldn’t have …” she started, but stopped when she saw the look in Jorunn’s eyes. She realized he was right. It would have gotten to the point where her grandfather would not have been able to help. “You actually think I’ll be able to know another’s thoughts?”
“With Edyth’s help—absolutely,” Jorunn smiled. “And just as importantly, she will teach you how to be and do without drawing attention to yourself. If you haven’t already figured it out, people react badly to anyone that’s better or different.”
“Why is that?”
Jorunn smiled as he felt Claire becoming more open to his words. “According to the masses, the reasons are numerous. To me, it always boils down to a lack of awareness.”
“Awareness of what?”
“Awareness that the good or bad that comes to anyone is because of how they are thinking.”
Claire pondered that for a moment. “So … you’re saying that, if I think there’s not enough food, there will be even less food? But what if people starving is all there is to look at?”
“Then look at things that are abundant, like rain or sunshine, and ideas will come for finding more food.”
Claire shook her head. “That’s … that’s just … No, it just doesn’t work that way.”
“Claire, your humanity gives you the ability to be and do w
hatever you choose to focus on. I’m taking you to this Piretian so that she can expose you to the ways of the old ones while she teaches you to recognize what already lies within you.”
“How did I get so lucky?” Claire scowled.
“The crossing of our paths was not random. Once I recognized you, I had no choice. As for Edyth, once she has the opportunity to meet you, you’ll find her just as eager to help. Claire, I know you have been plucked from all the things you hold dear. It will take time for the ache of that to clear, but it will. As you go along, you’ll remember that there is only one path to reaching what you want. That is through a joyful heart and passionate mind. By traveling this road, no matter what happens, you’ll always find your way.”
With that, Jorunn gave the horses their heads and relaxed back on the wagon seat.
“Why didn’t we ride rather than taking a wagon to Wessex?” Claire asked, thinking she might be better off walking rather than riding along at this plodding pace.
“Your grandfather insisted on thanking Edyth for her help. He, apparently, thinks quite highly of you. The horses could not have carried that which is in the back of this wagon.”
Knowing her grandfather and his affection for her, Claire felt a longing to see him again. Sharp and swift, it sliced through her heart, opening the wound she had been trying to wall off. Claire turned away to look at the countryside as tears streamed down her face. Mourning her loss, she thought about all the people she loved—people she might never see again.
***
A small pond and the wagon bed served their needs for their fifth night on the road. The bedding was comfortable, the sky clear, and the pond refreshing. Dinner was a rabbit thanks to the hunter. The next morning, breakfast was, thanks to Claire’s packing, a thick porridge sure to stick to their ribs. That was the trip’s most comfortable stop.
It was mid-morning, and they had been traveling along a meandering river for some time when Claire saw a stone bridge up ahead.
“Jorunn, look at that bridge,” she said. “Most of the bridges just seem like a way to cross the river. This one is lovely. Look at that graceful arch, and the stonework is so well done. Whoever built this put their heart into it.”
Jorunn smiled at her and turned the horses up onto the bridge. As their hooves began to clatter across the stone, Claire felt an undercurrent of emotions that stirred her awareness. It built upon the good feelings that the sight of the bridge had begun, and left Claire with a most wonderful feeling.
Just then, one of the horses whinnied.
“What is it?” she asked.
“They see something,” Jorunn replied. “Hmmm … interesting.”
“What’s going on?” Claire asked.
“Look to your left.”
Claire looked past the low stone wall of the bridge, down to the river. A man and horse were walking in the stream. Both looked up as they heard the noise of the wagon. The man seemed to be looking directly at her. In a flash of recognition, Claire was aware of the feeling again. Her heart leapt with the joy that it brought her.
“Who is he?” she whispered, startled.
“He’s a true-born horseman … but he has yet to understand the clarity of what his communications can be with the beasts. He has the potential,” Jorunn said with a smile as the wagon rolled back onto the dirt road.
Claire turned back, saw the man, and smiling, caught the feeling again. At that moment, a thought came.
‘Minds function on different wavelengths. There is also a difference in understanding, language, and perspective. Nevertheless, like this river, it is a gap that can be bridged.’
“That’s impossible!” Claire gasped. She knew the thought was not hers though there was a sense that her understanding came from her translation of the thought. “Was that you?” Claire demanded, staring at Jorunn.
“Tell me what you heard,” the Lascion countered.
Claire recited back to him what she had heard.
“Excellent, Claire,” Jorunn smiled at her. “I take it that you also felt the connection you shared back there.”
“It was … remarkable,” Claire admitted.
“No doubt. Claire, just as you heard my thoughts, you sensed that young man’s energy. In this case, I would say it is because you and he have a significant connection. That connection was enhanced because you have a way of knowing others for who they are or can be.”
Claire heard everything that Jorunn had said. But there was only one part of it that got her attention.
“What kind of connection?” she asked, her eyes bright with excitement.
Chapter 8
The euphoric feeling followed William from the river to the house. Looking at the profusion of springtime blossoms, he thrilled at how alive everything around him felt. He patted the stallion’s neck, smiling, until Mile’s farmhouse came into view.
Miles and the two girls sat by the front door, the girls clinging to their father. Even from this distance, William felt their grief rip through his heart, his joy-filled moment forgotten. Miles lifted his troubled face when he heard the horse’s hooves approaching.
“All right then William?” he asked.
“The bog sopped them all up,” William told him. “And you, Miles?”
“In time,” the man confessed. “Carden will be sorely missed.”
“Sarah?”
“She told me how you helped. William, I cannot thank you enough.”
William shook his head. “I dilly-dallied; half asleep in the saddle instead of getting here when I could have been of real help.”
“You couldn’t have known. But for you, I fear we would have all been with Carden right now,” Miles said gently.
William knew Mile’s words were true, but he also knew this all could have been different. His sleeping in the saddle had meant that Brunneis could take her time, munching on the spring grass as she picked her way down the road. If he had moved her along, he might have made it in time to save Mile’s son.
William led the stallion to the corral. Then, getting a shovel from the shed, he headed for the plot of land where Miles and Sarah had buried their stillborn child two years ago. Miles rose to help him.
“Miles,” William said, “stay with your girls and Sarah. This won’t take long.”
The hard work of digging was healing for William. By the time he finished, he had found that he had recaptured a little of the feeling that had come to him when he saw the girl on the bridge. But that only lasted until he entered the house and saw Carden laid out on his bed. Sarah had dressed him in his best clothes, and the girls had placed flowers around their brother’s bed.
Sarah had thrown herself into scrubbing away all the blood that would yield to her brush and Miles had repaired the furniture damaged by the struggle. It was a start to their healing, and William could tell they were the better for their labor.
After a light supper, William said goodnight and made his way to the hayshed. He would stay the night and help the family tomorrow before journeying back to Wessex.
***
Morning came with two more chores. Carden was laid to rest next to his little sister as the family sang a sweet song to send him on his way. There were no tears, and William felt the strong acceptance within them for the ebb and flow of life.
Next, with Mile’s counsel, William selected six horses for the Earl’s stable. By midmorning, William was mounted on Brunneis and ready to head out. Looking down at Sarah and the girls, he again wished them well. He shifted his weight on Brunneis just enough to send her over to Miles who was mounted on the black stallion.
He took Miles’ hand and, thinking Miles meant to ride with him for a while, said, “Stay with your family. I’ve got it from here.”
“I’m sure you do,” Miles said. “But it is really the black who wants to journey with you. He wonders why you wish to leave without him.”
William looked at Miles in astonishment. Had he just been invited to take the stallion with him?
&n
bsp; “I know you love that old mare,” Miles continued. “But this young stud has an affection for you that will never be broken. It would be remiss of me if I kept the two of you apart.”
William swallowed with difficulty. “But Miles, he’s been a good stud for your herd.”
“The mares will be dropping the third year of his foals soon. It’s time for some new blood. There’s a fine bay stud I’ve had my eye on. It’s a little heavier of bone, and I’d like to see what kind of foals that would give me. And thanks to you, I’ll have the coin to buy him.”
With that, he jumped off the horse, handed William the lead rope and walked over to stand with his wife and girls. William looked in wonder from the black stallion to Miles, knowing this was Miles’ way of thanking him for saving his family and livelihood.
William took a deep breath, looked Miles in the eye and nodded. “I’ll treat him well,” he said with a slight crack in his voice. Then, without trying to speak again, he gave Brunneis a nudge. She turned and headed home with the black and the others trooping behind.
***
After an hour at a steady trot, William and the horses were ready for a rest. Brunneis wandered off the trail to the lake where they always stopped on this journey. The horses took their fill of water and then started cropping the short grass. William inspected the weapons he had taken from the raiders. He had thrown some of them into the bog with the raiders’ bodies as Miles could not bear to have them around. The coin, he had split with Miles. William had taken some of the short blades for himself, but that was it. He could not see himself wielding a battle ax or mace.
He was getting ready to saddle up Brunneis when a soft whinny from the black changed his mind. He walked over to the stallion and untied him from the line. The horse seemed recovered from his ordeal, so William saddled and bridled him. The horse was quiet and accepting and seemed content with the man’s company. William gathered the line of six horses, and leaving Brunneis to follow as she would, he mounted the black and set off.
Werewolves of Wessex Page 4