‘Where?’ Edyth projected back.
‘On the other side of their communal hall, in the middle of the village.’
“They are down there.” Edyth could feel her keenness rising.
“Then shall we?” Jorunn smiled, feeling the same eagerness.
With that, the two started down the slope, winding vigilantly through the trees. Invincible or not, they did not throw caution to the wind. The feran would be overconfident, and Jorunn and Edyth would use that. With any luck, by the time the feran were aware they were under attack, the hunters would have whittled their numbers down.
‘Edyth,’ Harold projected, ‘you are my heart.’
Chapter 15
The lady and the hunter stole into the village without a sound. To avoid detection, they kept their thoughts and emotions as low-keyed as they could. The feran were notorious for picking up on thoughts especially when those thoughts were charged with emotion. And, as a safeguard, Edyth and Harold kept the projections they were shooting back and forth to each other, to their exclusive wavelength so that the feran could not pick up on it.
Using Harold as their spotter, they made it into the village with no interference. Once inside the village, their communication became almost nonstop.
‘Around the corner to your right, Edyth. There’s four of them. They’re all gathered around something on the ground.’
‘Can you see what has their attention?’
‘Not from here, my dear.’
‘Harold, I love that you are looking over me. Now, are there others nearby?’
‘Not at the moment. If you could take them out quietly, no one would notice.’
‘Hmmm, I think I would rather release them on the spot, Harold. Where are the others in relation to their location?’
‘I see three by the house three doors down. And … that’s it. If there are more, they have to be inside the buildings.’
‘Thank you, my lord. We’ll deal with the four and then go after the three. Let me know when the others show up.’
Turning to Jorunn, she pointed to the corner of the building and help up four fingers. The hunter nodded and moved to the corner.
Edyth touched his right shoulder to signal the direction she was taking. Jorunn leaped forward and went left.
The hunter was fast and powerful, the lady even faster. The heads of the two feran on the right exploded several seconds before the two on the left. But the lady, instead of starting for the three feran farther on, hesitated, staring at the body the feran had been feasting on. The woman was still alive even though much of her body was torn and ripped to shreds.
Jorunn, seeing Edyth’s reaction, stepped between Edyth and the woman and quickly dispensed the necessary mercy. ‘That was the best we could do for her,’ he projected. Then, to urge her on, said, “The others await us.”
With a shake of her head, Edyth broke loose of her horror and flew after Jorunn. By the time she got to where the three had been, one was down, and another was running for its life. As Edyth looked for the third, an explosion signaled the end of the second.
‘Harold, where’s the third?’ Edyth called.
‘The rest are regrouping. They’re to your left at the edge of the village. I see five. Wait! They just ran into the forest. They’re running for it.’
‘Follow us. Bring the horses,’ Edyth said as she raced to where Jorunn and the feran had entered the forest.
Harold shimmied off his perch, ran to the horses, and leading the other two, rode his steed down the slope. By the time he made it through the village and to the edge of the forest, Edyth was too far ahead to be seen, but he heard an explosion as either Jorunn or Edyth caught up with one of the feran. He headed in the direction the blast had come from.
‘Edyth, where are you?’
‘We’re a good way south of you. In a clearing. They’ve stopped running. Don’t get too close until we take care of them.’
Edyth could see the hunter standing in the middle of the clearing. The four feran, looking about as winded as she had ever seen feran look, were facing the hunter. Crashing through the forest, Edyth rushed into the clearing.
Her appearance set the feran off. They charged. Edyth ran for a tree trunk leaning against a tall oak just left of the feran that would give her the higher ground. The lady, with nimble footsteps, ran up the trunk.
Using the picture of the mortally wounded woman to ignite her anger, Edyth let the curse take her. In three strides, the lady became the formidable force the Deminians’ blood curse had turned her into.
Harold, who had just arrived with the horses, watch with mouth agape, as his wife bounded along the trunk and launched herself toward the monster. The feran reached up toward the red eyes of fury that were flying toward him but came up with nothing. Edyth, in midair, swung her sword and separated the feran from its head and one of its grasping arms. Hitting the ground, she rolled and came to her feet, sword at the ready. The explosion told her that her sword work had been deadly. A second blast informed her of the Lascion’s progress. She ran toward a third feran.
Jorunn found the fourth. As he turned for the last of the pack, the creature crashed into his chest with the force of a bull. Jorunn’s feet left the ground as the two flew fifteen feet through the air. The flight ended when the hunter’s back was driven into the ground, knocking the wind out of him.
Screaming his projection, ‘Come, now!’ he heard the sound of hoofbeats thundering toward him.
Jorunn gasped for air as the feran’s teeth sliced into his shoulder. The bite was excruciating, but before the creature could rip away what its mouth had gathered, the weight of the feran was driven with a pounding force into him. The feran’s jaw snapped open as it roared with pain.
Jorunn felt the weight lift for a moment, and then it slammed into him again.
‘Enough!’ Jorunn gasped out.
‘Is good?’ a voice shot back as the weight lifted.
Jorunn rolled, and the feran fell to the side.
“Are you all right?” Edyth yelled, running over to him.
Gasping for breath, Jorunn waved a hand at the Piretian to let her know he was okay.
Knowing that the feran would soon recover from the battering, Edyth quickly decapitated the beast, releasing the entrapped soul.
Jorunn’s horse, still excited from its attack on the feran, jumped at the explosion and pranced about the clearing, tail high in the air. Blowing a loud, whistling snort, the horse swung around toward Jorunn as the Lascion struggled to his feet.
‘More monsters I help with?’ the horse asked, still ready for battle.
‘No, my friend. There are no more. I thank you for your help,’ Jorunn said as he stroked the horse’s neck.
***
By tapping into the deep anger all Piretians carry, the lady was able to consciously bring on the physical effects of the curse. That which had hunted and released the feran was the product of the curse of the gods and not the lovely woman Harold had spent the last twenty years with. Drawing a deep breath, Edyth let go of the curse, and by the time Harold had joined them, she was once again a beautiful lady, ready to greet her husband.
This was one of the reasons Edyth had wanted Harold as far from the battle as possible. She knew that Harold had accepted who she was, but to see that part of her that had been thrust upon her without her consent—that was difficult for both of them.
“Edyth, I need to examine these feran,” Harold declared as he slid from his horse.
“What happened to—Hi, my dear. Are you okay?” Edyth teased him with an amused smile.
Duly admonished, Harold walked over to her and wrapped his arms around the lovely woman. In his heart, he had been hoping that he would have had a little more time to push aside what his wife had just accomplished and who she had been.
“Harold,” Edyth said with a stricken look. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking of how what you just saw would affect you.” She stroked his brow and cheek with a gentle hand. “
Forgive me.”
Harold smiled at her. “You, my dear wife, have had a bit too much going on to worry about my unsettled emotions. Just holding you has remedied that, so do not be concerned about me.” Turning back to the bodies, he said, “Now, I must exam the corpses.”
“I would advise against it, Harold. It serves no purpose for you to see the creatures any closer.”
“It is what they are wearing that concerns me,” the Earl said grimly. “Edyth, do you not recognize that tunic?” Harold questioned as he approached the nearest headless body.
The feran’s clothing had not been her concern during the heat of the battle. But with her husband’s question, the lady took a closer look at the tunic covering the decaying body.
“It is as I thought,” Harold confirmed.
“Damn,” Edyth cursed. “I would have missed that.”
“Missed what?” Jorunn asked. The hunter was just joining the earl and lady when he heard her swear.
“It wears the tunic of the King’s guard,” Harold answered.
Shocked, Jorunn, his mind wrestling with the implications of this, said, “They were all dressed similarly.”
“I can’t believe it,” Edyth said, shaking with anger.
“Hold on,” Harold called to his wife. He was kneeling over the feran Jorunn’s horse had attacked. “The tunic is Edward’s, but the soldiers are not his. These have the same mark on their forearms. It is the mark of the Mercian guard.”
The land of Mercia, the middle half of the British isle, was governed by a Lantian by the name of Morcar. He, like William the Norman, and Hardrada, the king of Norway, had had designs on all of England for some time now.
Wanting to confirm that with her own eyes, Edyth knelt beside her husband. The mark was unmistakable.
“I would say,” Edyth growled, “that Morcar’s eagerness to rule more of this land is more important to him than we had guessed.” She turned to Harold, aghast. “He has gone against our unwritten code to not create feran or drakul.”
Shaking off his own disbelief, Jorunn knelt beside the body and searched the feran’s pockets. “I can find nothing else. Only the marks connect them to Mercia.”
“But why turn them?” Edyth asked.
“I can think of only one reason,” Jorunn answered. “Say an immortal wanted your land. But as united as the people of your area are, the old one knows that to attempt a forced takeover would be difficult. Especially considering that some old ones make this their home. It is a situation that would keep even the reckless at bay.
“But, what if Morcar knew that a large number of feran have come visiting from across the sea. Granted, the feran are moving quickly and with great stealth to hide their presence. Nevertheless, they are killing as they go, which would, no matter how careful they might be, spread rumor and fear. Would this not be the perfect time to add to the rumor? By adding a pack of their own making, disguised as the king’s men, an old one could drive the level of fear up considerably. Fearful people are unpredictable people. A pack of feran with the purpose of having their deeds blamed on Edward could shake the very fabric that holds Wessex together.”
“Morcar seeks to divide us with fear,” Edyth whispered.
“It is devious,” Harold snapped. “But I can’t see it working. Wessex is strong and so too is Northumbria. With King Edward uniting us and Siward and his son, Waltheof, strongly behind the king, we have the manpower to fight off whatever number of these monsters he makes.”
“Oh Harold, let’s hope you’re right,” the Lady Edyth added, clearly not convinced.
Chapter 16
“I told you,” Claire started in on him again, “you’re going to rip out those stitches.”
“I know, I know, Claire. I just keep forgetting,” William grimaced.
“How can anyone forget they have torn stomach muscles?” Claire asked, looking at him incredulously.
“I was just thinking about the six new horses I have to get ready for the earl plus all my regular work,” he tried to tell her, “and I forgot.” But she would have none of it, telling him in no uncertain terms, that he was more important than his work.
The discomfort William had felt when Claire was around, was lessening. She seemed happy to talk with him, and the reserved young man found that a good part of a morning would pass while they shared stories. The woman made him feel better, whether they were in a quiet conversation or she was admonishing him to take care of himself.
Then there were the times when she was quietly changing his dressing. The feel of her touch was beyond description.
The change in him began, oddly enough, after his first attempt to sit up. Not only was his effort a complete failure but it also ignited a wildfire. Claire exploded, yelling at him for trying something so stupid.
She meant to make him understand why he should not be attempting to sit up. What she did, instead, was ease the anxiety he felt when around her. Even the pain from his attempt to sit up vanished as she scolded him, hands on her hips. All he could think was, ‘She’s really concerned about me! And she’s so beautiful.’
“You’ll be ripping out all my hard work if you keep that up. The stitches I put into your belly are sheep’s gut. It is not the kind of thread you would use to hold a coat together for many years. The purpose is to hold you together just long enough for the torn parts to repair themselves. Until your body gets done mending, you’ll be keeping still,” Claire said, giving him a stern look.
And even though he was thoroughly convinced that she knew what she was talking about, the stubborn side of him would put up an argument. “But Claire,” he would purposely interrupt her, “sheep’s gut is tough. A sheep uses it for years without having to be careful. It should hold me together just for a bit if I want to sit up.”
“Will,” she would say emphatically—he loved it when she called him Will, “Sheep’s gut, when it’s in a sheep, is alive. When you take it out of the sheep, it’s dead. Something that is dead, rots. Which is the whole point of using sheep’s gut. If we used regular thread, it would stay there and irritate your body to no end. Rather like you do to me when you continually try to sit up,” she said exasperatedly. “The point is, the irritation would turn to festering, and you would be the one rotting.”
William had never had much use for the healing arts as he was always in good health. But Claire’s enthusiasm and thorough knowledge of herbs and anything to do with medicine made the topic absorbing. It was also fun to see how animated she would become as she delved into this subject to make him understand her point. It entertained him to no end.
The enthusiasm she held for health and healing was infectious. Claire was a walking book on herbs and spices, especially when it came to their medicinal uses. The information she could speak about in detail was dizzying. And, as William found the topic of interest and was free to study the beautiful woman as she was talking, it was an excellent way to while away the time.
Claire’s theory of the four humors interested William because it was much the same as his when it came to keeping track of a horse’s health. There was many a time that he had caught a horse’s illness before it had progressed too far by the appearance of its droppings or urine.
Claire held that there was a diagnostic relevance to phlegm, choler, melancholy, and blood. The color and consistency of one’s stools and mucous, the physical characteristics of one’s appearance, and the overall patterns of one’s thoughts—beliefs—were always interwoven. For her, the susceptibilities of the phlegm, choler, melancholy, and blood were created by one’s thoughts.
As she talked about how a person’s poor health situation could be lessened when the four humors were considered and the correct herb administered, she also emphasized, “If a person wants to be well, they must at some point address their thinking. Herbs can bring heat when the body is cold and cool the body when it is too hot. They can also moisten a dry body and dry a body that is too wet. But if the temperament and beliefs are overlooked, they will not b
e nearly as effective as they should have been.”
“But what of a horse?” William asked. “They don’t have beliefs.”
“Many things are going on there,” Claire said. “A horse in the wild will range over a large area and find herbs and weeds to eat that will keep him healthy. Your riding horses don’t have that option.
“Then there is the connection the horse has to you. You are on the horse, in direct contact with it. You are,” Claire put her palms together to emphasize her point, “so close to a horse. A horse wants to please, and since most people don’t know how to get what they want across to the animal, the horse has to become as intimate with us as its temperament will allow in order to understand. The horse’s body adapts to our riding. For most, it is a matter of its mouth and sides no longer bruising but becoming callused. And as we hold beliefs that influence our health, the horse becomes so close to us that those beliefs can also impact their health.”
“I see,” William said thoughtfully. “Isn’t it sad, though, that those riding don’t know that the bruising isn’t necessary?”
“It’s sad that they miss out on the connection. The horses will cope.”
William was so impressed by Claire’s progressive thinking that he gradually became comfortable with her. She was gentle and caring, and he found her delightful. Most importantly, the intimidation he allowed to override his thinking because of her beauty and family ranking, began to lessen.
When the conversation turned to horses, William always felt on more equal footing. He was in his element when it came to horses. There, he was able to find his tongue. Claire’s understanding of the horse’s temperament was somewhat different than his, and he discovered that his perception, as he listened to her, was enhanced.
“They are, as so many animals, one with the Earth,” Claire explained. “That makes them inclined toward a very particular pattern of energy. But they are also all heart. The combination makes them sensitive to the point of being fearful, and yet fulfilled by what they offer others. A full belly, a joyful run, and a compassionate connection with others are what they seek. Give them that and a clarity of message, and they will support you in every way they can.”
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