Bardess of Rhulon

by Verna McKinnon

  Rose was dizzy. Horrified and enthralled by Meg’s tragic tale, she could not imagine enduring such terrors. “How did you escape? Were you pardoned? Or did someone rescue you?”

  “I rescued myself. That was the strangest part of this whole travesty. I never had my mother’s easy talent for witchcraft. I was awful at it. I gave up on magic as a child. Something happened to me at the stake. I remember how the priest smirked when his torch ignited the pyre. How the fire burned slowly around me at first, the flames fueling as they lapped the up the oil. I did not pray. I did not cry. I was just angry! It hurt me that people I once called friends came to watch me die. It hurt that Mathias did nothing! His desertion devastated me! He once promised to love and protect me. Then the hem of my dress caught fire and flames smothered my naked hands. It was excruciating. Desperate, I looked up at the blue sky, so clear and calm on my death day as the fire spiraled to engulf me.”

  Rose wiped away tears. She held her friend’s hand in support as she recounted her tragedy.

  “That’s when my magic flickered within me.” Meg’s eyes bright with the memory, her haunted look vanished. “It was warm and comforting. Light as air and full of an energy I can never put into words. It bloomed with such force! I knew in a heartbeat I could save myself. I shouted at the flames to go and they fell away like leaves. I summoned rain. In an instant, black storm clouds filled the sky. It poured down in such harsh sheets my death fire was doused within seconds. My chains shattered with a thought. My hands and arms caught the worst of the fire, but I walked away from the inferno alive. The priest was the first to run away from me, screaming like a lunatic. My temper was raw and vindictive. I glanced at the sprinting priest and sent thin bolts of lightning sparking at his heels.”

  “Good. He deserved that,” Rose affirmed. “Does that make me evil?”

  “No. It makes you a realist,” Meg replied. “I stumbled from the stake, my clothes scorched and smoking. Everyone fled, even the brave soldiers who dragged me from my prison cell bolted. Except for Mathias. He did not run. He fell to his knees and bowed his head. Though it was pure agony, I wrenched my silver wedding ring from my raw, burned finger and flung it at him. I told him our marriage was broken.”

  “Oh, gods, what did you do next? What did he do?”

  “He bent over and cried, but I was deaf to his weeping. I had to escape, so I closed my eyes and summoned a horse. Believe it or not, a horse came galloping toward me in the rain.”

  “You conjured a horse! Yes, I believe you did.”

  “No, I didn’t conjure. That takes incredible skill and training,” Meg laughed. “There was a horse farm nearby. I think she came from there.”

  “Was it Fayre?” Please let it be Fayre, Rose wished.

  Yes, it was. She galloped toward me like she knew me. She looked at me with such trusting bright eyes in the smoking chaos. I named her Fayre right then. I rode away from Juraca that day and never looked back. That was ten years ago. I hadn’t seen Mathias since the day they tried to burn me as a witch and a heretic.”

  “Until today,” Rose added. “What could he want after all these years?”

  “I don’t know or care.”

  Rose did not believe that, but she did not press the matter. Such pain should never be poked at. “Maybe he wants forgiveness?” she suggested.

  “Could you forgive?” Meg asked coolly.

  Rose thought about the teachings in the holy book. The prophets of Ishar and Ursas give many examples of how people should forgive their enemies. The reality was she could never forgive something so terrible. “No. I guess I’m not as good a girl as my mother wanted,” Rose confessed.

  “We never are,” Meg replied blithely, her mood lightening.

  Rose fingered her empty cup, sorry the rum was gone. “Can you still do magic?”

  Meg’s eyes glittered. She leaned over and whispered in Rose’s ear, “Yes, but I am cautious. Old wounds, you know. Skullcap knows about my witch talents, as do most of my rangers. My magic is not reliable though, so I rarely use it.”

  “You trust him,” Rose smiled. “I like Skullcap too. His tattoos are so pretty.”

  “You’re pretty drunk,” Meg laughed. “Yes. We’ve saved each other’s lives more times than I can count. I use magic when needed. I’m grateful for it, because it saved my life. It means I inherited something precious from my mother. After Juraca, I vowed I would never be a victim again.”

  More than a little intoxicated, Rose stumbled away from the table. “I think I need my bed. That rum is potent. Who knew molasses could be so deadly? Maybe it should be weaponized.”

  “Let’s get you to bed. You need some sleep. I should start heading back anyway,” Meg yawned. “It’s quite a ride back to the ranger station.”

  “Wait, waityou haven’t told me how you became a ranger?”

  “That is another story with another bottle of rum. Oh, wait! There’s one more thing I want to give you before I leave.” Meg handed her a dagger in a blue leather sheath from her cloak’s inner pocket. “I was going to give you this at the Red Boar, but we got interrupted by my past.”

  Rose slid the dagger out of the sheath. The blade was sleek, sharp, and gleamed like silver. Fine craftsmanship that her father would praise. The blue enameled handle was lovely. “It’s both beautiful and lethal. I think it even compliments my bard uniform,” she quipped.

  “Many bards carry a traditional dagger or staff. I have a collection of weapons, so take it. I don’t like it when you walk alone in the rough parts of town without protection. Consider it a gift to commemorate your new position as bardess.”

  “You collect weapons?”

  “A lady needs a hobby. Consider it an accessory with purpose. Even in a palace, a woman is at risk. I suggest tucking it under your pillow at night.” Meg threw on her cloak and walked to the door. “But don’t play with it until I give you some lessons. I don’t want you slicing your fingers off. That would damage your musical skill.”

  After Meg left, Rose put the dagger on her night table. Too tired to rummage for a nightgown, she undressed and managed to neatly fold her uniform. She fell into bed in her undergarments. After a few seconds, she pushed herself up, grabbed the dagger and slipped it under her thick pillow. She slept fitfully until her dreams became wild, fracturing her peaceful sleep.

  Rose walked alone in the barren wilderness. The sky above her was swirled with storm clouds. From a distance, she saw Belenus Aylecross, alone on a distant mountain, calling to her. She ran toward him, but the sky darkened to a black maelstrom and the swirling clouds pursued her to the earth. Rose shielded her eyes as the shadows swarmed over her head, breaking into hundreds of ravens that cawed mercilessly, shattering her ears.

  In her anxious sleep, the dream ravens continued to cry louder until Rose finally woke; covered with sweat.

  Rose screamed when she saw a monster more terrifying than her nightmare staring down at her with bulbous black eyes. The beast hovered over Rose; it snarled as its clawed hands tightened their grasp around her neck.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rose kicked and screamed until the beast struck her across the face. The heavy blow stunned her. She watched in dazed horror as it sniffed her. It touched her arms and legs and panic flooded away rational thought. She resumed thrashing and crying out. The monster bayed viciously. Its shrill hiss pierced her ears like a knife and shattered her nerve to fight. Rose’s cries muted when it shoved its gruesome face against hers. Gods, how her head ached! Rose recoiled, twisting her face away from its hot, curdled breath, like rotted oranges. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking its stare. It seized her hands and pinned them at her side. The beast loomed over her, threatening and resolute.

  She was in a palace filled with guards and servantswhere the Hel are they?

  It inspected her body, as though choosing a roast for supper. In forced silence, she opened her eyes and forced herself to watch. Her brain absorbed every facet she could glean about the creature
restraining her. A lamp near her bed highlighted speckled grey skin and tufts of black fur sprouted from its head. The body was lean and almost reptilian, with clawed hands, slightly webbed. Its opaque black eyes were enormous. It appeared to be naked, though she could not determine if it even had a gender.

  What is this monster?

  There was something familiar about it, but panic blotted out lucid reasoning. How could she verify minor facts and features about some beast when it might be preparing to eat her? Rose could not fathom what it was doing to her. It grabbed her face with leathery hands and cocked its grotesque head, as though it studied her. Then the hands secreted something white and sticky. It was deliberately violating her and acted with more than instinct. Its actions seemed very specific. Was it demon? A strange fey creature? It was not an animal. She liked animals. This was a hideous monster. It must be a demon. Her stomach was queasy. She forced down nausea and vowed to never drink again. Despite the creature's strength and viciousness, she concluded that it could have easily killed her by now.

  “Stop fighting,” the creature warned her in a raspy voice. It stroked her head. “Sleep. Sleep.”

  Terrified, she refused to obey its command. It was a demon. Sleep would be death; she was sure of it. She was sure this debility in her limbs was from more than a few cups of rum-laced tea. Her body went numb as the chrysalis began forming on her limbs and arms. It enthralled her with its strange powers. A black abyss dragging her down. She struggled to stay awake. Silent despite her inner panic, Rose endured the beast gingerly fingering her face and body. It shrouded her body with the white secretion that stiffened when it touched her skin. For an instant it loosened its grip. She seized her chance and bolted.

  Rose dropped to the floor and sprinted for the door, fighting the heavy sensation in her legs. It howled and the scuttle of footpads pursued her. She grabbed the door handle, so close to her salvation. It grasped her by the braid and yanked her back hard. It dragged her back toward the bed.

  “Bad dwarf,” the demon hissed.

  A palace guard kicked her door open and charged into her chamber. For a split second, Rose thought she would be saved. The guard visibly paled when he first eyed the demon, who shrieked at the man, its black hair bristling down its back. The guard recovered from his shock quickly and charged with weapon drawn. The demon dropped her, distracted by the assault. It evaded the sword’s strikes. Rose’s legs went completely limp. She beat at them for a heartbeat in frustration. She resumed her crawl toward the door, trembling and sweating from the struggle. The clash with the guard ended quickly when the beast seized the guard’s sword arm snapped it. Rose flinched when she heard the poor man’s arm break. The sword fell to the carpet, and the monster hurled the hapless guard across the room.

  Then the demon brutally scooped her up in one arm and flung her on the bed. It punched her hard across the cheek and displayed its talons, warning her to be still. She cowered, but escape was all Rose could think of as the monster lingered over her prone body. A single clawed hand squeezed her neck, but not enough to choke her. She blanched at the rough, sweaty texture of its skin as it pressed its bony fingers around her neck. Impulsively, she screamed again. The monster snarled and its repulsive hand clamped firmly over her mouth. Savage and deliberate, it continued its mysterious ritual on her. Her muscles were turning to pudding. She could not run or even walk. Rose’s consciousness waned. A glimmer of cogent thought trickled into her frightened mind. Despite her bewildered terror, she suddenly remembered Meg’s gift!

  The dagger.

  How could she have forgotten the dagger! Idiot!

  The monster hissed. Drool dribbled from its maw as it wove its white shroud. She wanted to strike that repellent look off its face. For a fleeting second, the black eyes were off her, absorbed by secreting the webs to bind her. She could still move her arms. Rose quickly slipped her free hand under her pillow, grateful for Meg’s warrior mind. Rose struggled to find the blade, her strength weakening with each breath.

  The demon’s head snapped back and glared at her suspiciously, hissing. Her heart racing, she fumbled under her pillow until she grasped the slim handle of the blade, sliding it out of its sheath beneath the pillow. She whipped it out, blindly stabbing at the monster. It yelped and shrank back from Rose, surprised it was the victim now. She pierced its flesh and blood splattered her hand. It wailed. Rose blindly thrust her knife again, crying and screaming at the same time until it released her. The beast’s gore seared her flesh, tainted with the faint odor of decay. It jumped back, howling in pain. Blood oozed from the wounds she inflicted. She ripped at the sticky webs, gripping her dagger like a precious talisman. She rolled until she fell over the side of the bed as it scarpered toward the door, trailing blood.

  Several guards finally rushed in and blocked the demon’s exit, surrounding the monster with swords and spears. Trapped, the demon howled and retreated slowly from the advancing soldiers. Then the demon charged for her window and crashed through it.

  Unable to walk, Rose dragged her body to the nearest corner, clutching her weapon. She tried to scrape the beast’s blood off her hands, but the thick substance clung to her like glue. Shouts rang in her ears. She recoiled in the corner shivering. The crunch of broken glass beneath booted feet made her cringe. The monster’s blood was rank, like a fusion of burning iron and decayed flesh. It churned her already fragile stomach. The aftermath of drinking rum did not help matters.

  More guards swarmed into her room, shouting. They sounded distant and strange, like an echo. Rose shut out the world and remained in her safe corner; holding her wonderful dagger with eyes shut tightly to blot out the harsh reality of demons and hot blood.

  The clasp of warm, strong hands firmly on her shoulders startled Rose from her protected cocoon. A familiar and frantic voice shouted ‘Rose’ over and over until she finally opened her eyes.

  Reluctantly, Rose opened her eyes and looked up. No terrors stared back at her. Only the worried expression of Culain greeted hernot the dreadful fiend with hellish black eyes.

  “Breathe,” Culain tutored gently, slowly drawing her from her corner. “It’s safe now. Take deep breaths. Breathe.”

  Rose trusted him and obeyed, breathing deeply for a moment until her mind cleared and she could speak again. “Culain?” she whispered in a small voice.

  “Yes, Rose, it’s me. It’s all right. You’re safe now. The creature is gone. Did it hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. It held me down. I fought, but it was so strong!” She shakily showed Culain the dagger, smeared with the grey demon blood. “So I stabbed it.”

  “Good girl,” Culain affirmed and flashed a smile of pride. “I think I’ll take that blade for now,” he said gently, carefully removing the dagger from her hands with a white handkerchief trimmed with lace. He carefully handed the bloody weapon to Robert.

  “Is she hurt?” Robert asked with concern, his brow furrowed. “Should we summon the physician?”

  “Just frightened I think, poor thing,” Culain replied. “Bring some ice too. Her face is swelling. Get my gloves. Send for strong soap, hot water, and plenty of towels to clean the blood and webs off her skin. The towels should be burned after. Order a hot bath too. We want to make sure no traces remain that can harm her. Wake the maids, if they’re not already up from this chaos.”

  “Sir, do you think it was”

  “Yes, I do. That blood is grey and its reek all too familiar.” He spoke into Robert’s ear. “Quietly inform everybody to refrain from touching the blood or anything stained with it as well. Anything it bled on must be removed and burned. They should wear gloves for safety.”

  She ignored their conversation. There was something familiar about the grotesque thing that attacked her. Why? It irritated her because her memory was usually so excellent. She was terribly embarrassed too. She acted like a five-year-old afraid of the boogey man. She picked at the white and webby residue the creature had coated her wi
th, disgusted.

  “I’m sorry I fell apart,” she apologized in a small voice.

  “Nonsense,” Culain assured her. “You were very brave. You did the only normal thing anyone would do. You screamed to high heaven and fought back too, based on that blood-soaked dagger. That took courage. What happened? Can you tell me what you remember?”

  “It’s so strange. I was having a dream about ravens. The ravens kept crying at me, unrelenting. Then I opened my eyes. That thing was just therelooking down at me. I don’t know how long it was standing over me as I slept. Oh that poor guard! He tried to help me! He’s hurt badly. It broke his arm”

  “He’s being looked after,” Culain assured her. “Don’t worry. I will keep you safe now.”

  Culain was so gentle with her. As her senses calmed, Rose’s practical modesty reasserted itself too. She needed to wear something more substantial than a scanty silk chemise and drawers. Her mother would have fainted from the impropriety by now. She imagined her mother’s incensed outburst and her father’s stern expression over her undressed state in front of so many strange men. It restored a fragment of her sanity. She bowed her head and leaned over to Culain. She murmured, “I think I should get dressed now.”

  “Forgive me,” he exclaimed. “You must be cold too.” To her surprise, Culain took off his own robe and draped it around her shoulders. Much to her relief, he was fully clothed beneath the voluminous robe in a white linen shirt and black trousers.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She tried to stand, but her legs were still limp. Panic returned. “I can’t walk. What did that demon do to me?”