Air: Merlin's Chalice (The Children of Avalon Book 1) (6 page)

The mocking tone of his voice stabbed the old priest in his heart and in his hopes. The king did not understand the importance of eliminating these witches. But, clearly, there was no way to convince him of this. Not now. Not when he was so troubled. After all, he was just a boy who had been raised to this great position only a short time ago.

If only there was more time to allow him to grow and consolidate his position. But there was not. This was truly something that should have been taken care of years ago, but King Alfred had had the same problem with the Danes and not the manpower to devote to the extermination of the witches. Father du Lac had let it go then. But he could not afford to do so now.

The priest took a breath, about to muster new argument, but the king forestalled him. “Father, you are concerned about these witches. I understand that, and I respect your opinion that this is something that needs attention.”

“Yes, Sire,” du Lac said.

Edward strode around the table, thinking. “You say that these witches are corrupting our youths. Teaching them the ways of the devil, right?”

“Yes, that is right.”

The words had barely left the priest’s mouth when the king continued with, “Then this is a problem concerning the souls of my people—a Christian problem.”

“Er…”

He looked up at the priest and spread his hands as if the answer were obvious. “This is clearly an issue that needs to be addressed by the pope.”

“But…”

Edward barely let du Lac get in the word. “No, have no fear, Father. You see, you are in luck. The pope’s own emissary, Father Bellini, is going to be here to pay us a visit. You may address him at that time. Present the issue to him. I’m certain that he will understand the dilemma and take your petition to his holiness in Rome.”

He smiled, so happy to have found a solution to this problem without having to do anything about it himself. “And it will be so much more meaningful, I’m sure, that the decree come from the church. Your problem is solved.”

And just like that, the priest was dismissed. The king went back to his papers and his war planning and forgot all about his confessor.

But was this the answer? Father du Lac wondered as he walked thoughtfully back to his chambers. Could this, in fact, be the solution he sought? It was not one that he had thought of before, he had to admit. And the king might be right: the decree might be more meaningful coming from Rome.

Father du Lac was willing to consider this solution—for the time being.

Chapter Eight

T
ravel was much faster on horseback. I figured that we must have covered the same distance in just a few hours as I had in a day of walking. When I commented on this, Sir Dagonet laughed. “Haven’t even pushed the beast too hard. With two of us on his back, I don’t want him to get too tired, wot?”

Still, by the late afternoon, it was clear that I wasn’t the only one who was feeling tired. The horse had slowed, and I wasn’t certain, but I thought Sir Dagonet might have fallen asleep altogether—if it was possible to sleep while sitting upon a horse.

I was very tempted to rest my own head on Sir Dagonet’s back, but just as I did so, the trees began to thin. As we entered a small clearing, I breathed a sigh of relief.

My whole body filled with warmth and good feelings in the brilliant sunlight, like a raisin soaked in warm water. All the life seeped back into me and I tilted my head back to bask in the sunlight.

Sir Dagonet, too, perked up—or woke up. “Eh, wot? What?” he said, looking around, a little confused.

“Can we stop here for a little while?” I asked.

The old knight jumped at the sound of my voice, as if he’d even forgotten that I was behind him. “Oh, er, yes, of course. Yes, brilliant idea, brilliant idea.” He pulled up on the reins.

I slid off the horse’s back and immediately felt all of the aches and pains from sitting in one position for too long. I could hardly walk but forced myself to hobble around the warm grass until the aches began to subside.

Sir Dagonet disappeared into the woods for a minute but came back looking much more content. That was a good idea. I slipped off to relieve myself as well. When I came back, Sir Dagonet was sitting on the grass nibbling at some bread and dried meat, his helmet on the ground next to him staring blankly at the road beside him.

“Come and have a bite, you’ll feel much better for it,” he offered.

“Thank you. I’m already feeling much better just being out of that forest.”

“Er? Oh, yes, don’t like confining spaces, do you?”

“No, not at all,” I answered, with a decisive tone that made Sir Dagonet laugh.

We ate in silence for a few minutes, but my curiosity got the better of me and I asked, “What brought you to this part of Wales, sir?”

“Eh? Oh, er, I was in the service of Lord, er, Lord, er…well, of a nobleman. He sent a bunch of us off to deliver a package to King Offa of Wales and, er, I sort of got left behind.”

“Left behind?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yes.”

“How?”

“Couldn’t quite keep up, don’t you know, wot?” He kept his gaze focused on the road, looking back the way we had come. I couldn’t tell if he was looking for his lost companions, or he was embarrassed by his admission.

“Oh, how terrible. So they just left you behind?”

“Well, er, yes. But that’s all right. I found you, didn’t I, wot?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Shhh!” Sir Dagonet held up his hand to stop me from speaking.

“What?” I turned around to look back into the woods.

“There’s a horse approaching,” Sir Dagonet whispered. “Quick, hide us.”

“What?”

“Hide us! Either this is a thief come to steal all of our worldly goods, or—”

“Someone who could see us burnt as witches?” I whispered back, feeling the hair stand up along my arms.

Sir Dagonet responded only by raising his eyebrows.

We both stood. I started for the woods, but Sir Dagonet grabbed my arm. “No time for that. Bring down a cloud; we can hide in its mists.”

“But…”

“What?”

“I don’t know how…”

“And you didn’t know how to remove my sword from the tree either.” Sir Dagonet just looked at me with a small smile and an expectant look in his eyes.

The sound of hoofbeats were getting closer. I had to try.

I looked up into the sky. A few small, puffy white clouds floated overhead. Pointing up at one, I slowly curled my fingers down toward my palm, pulling the cloud down with them. It wasn’t a big gesture, but it worked. And this time my fingers didn’t tingle at all. Somehow, pulling a cloud out of the sky was easy compared with removing the sword from the tree.

Still, it was amazing to watch as the cloud obeyed me, descending to the ground. With a giggle, I looked over at Sir Dagonet. The old man beamed with pride.

“Oh, well done! I say, well done, wot?”

Within a moment, we were both enveloped in the cloud, and I couldn’t see two feet in front of me. I laughed again, rather thrilled at my own ability, until Sir Dagonet hushed me. The sound of the horse had slowed as it approached the clearing, which was now filled with the white mist of the cloud.

I realized I was trembling. I wished the horseman would just move on.

I wasn’t entirely certain whether my sudden chills were due to my fear of the horseman—or the reality that I had just done magic.

I simply could not deny that I was a witch—or, I supposed, a Vallen—now. Not to myself, nor to anyone else.

Suddenly, I noticed the cloud thinning rapidly, and a light rain was falling down on us. I could see Sir Dagonet again, and he looked as surprised as I was.

Drops of water clung delicately to him as he turned to look at the rider. I followed his gaze and was met by piercing green eyes—so green that even from this distance they stood out from the man’s tanned face. He looked oddly familiar, but I couldn’t remember having ever met him.

I took a step backward even as I turned to face the strange, stunningly handsome man. His curly black hair, reached down nearly to his shoulders—his very broad, strong shoulders. I felt very small and feminine in his presence.

He held his arm out in front of him as if he had pushed aside the cloud. My heart missed a beat as Sir Dagonet strode over to him, saying, “Well met! Well met!”

The man dismounted and bowed politely to Sir Dagonet. Still, he said nothing, just looked from Sir Dagonet to me and back again, his eyes lingering a little longer on me. Perhaps he recognized me as well?

“Well, that was a fine bit of magic, I say, wot?” Sir Dagonet said, pulling the young man’s attention back to himself.

The man’s eyebrows rose into the curls that hung down over his forehead. He eyed Sir Dagonet warily. “Magic, sir?”

“Yes, of course. Oh, no fear, no fear, we’re all Vallen here, I say, wot?” Dagonet said merrily.

The man’s shoulders came down an inch as the stress of being discovered seemed to flow away from him. Oddly enough, I couldn’t “hear” his thoughts even though I looked directly into his eyes and he looked back at me. I was certain that his were thoughts of relief, though, and I respected him for his caution at being found out.

How odd that the man’s mind was absolutely quiet. I looked harder at him and actually concentrated on hearing his thoughts, but there was nothing. I couldn’t “hear” him at all. So accustomed was I to being able to know someone’s thoughts that this silence made me feel rather uneasy. How was I to know if he was trustworthy or not? There was no way to tell.

Was it him or me? Could I not hear his thoughts because he was Vallen, or was something blocking my ability?

The man raised his eyebrows at me, but his attention kept going back to Sir Dagonet, as if he wasn’t sure who he was supposed to be watching.

I caught Sir Dagonet’s eyes for a moment. His thrill at meeting the young man came through loud and clear. So it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t because he was Vallen.

But then how was it that this stranger’s mind was closed to me? And why was he so familiar? I couldn’t have met him before—I certainly would have remembered someone whose mind I couldn’t read.

There was something odd going on. I knew him, but I didn’t know him. I felt I should be comfortable with him, but I was unsure of him because I couldn’t read his thoughts. This man completely put me off balance.

“My name is Dylan,” the man was saying with a polite smile.

“Sir Dagonet at your service,” my new friend said, with an inclination of his head. “And this lovely young lady is Scai.”

Dylan bowed to me as I curtseyed to him. “Where are you and your daughter bound, Sir Dagonet?”

“Oh!” Sir Dagonet burst out laughing. “Oh, no. Scai is not my daughter. No, I say, wot?”

Sir Dagonet didn’t seem to think there was anything odd or dangerous about Dylan, but then he wouldn’t notice his silent mind.

I forcibly pushed aside my worries, determined to give Dylan the benefit of the doubt—at least until I was proved wrong. And, after all, there was something oddly familiar about him. “We only met this morning,” I offered, allowing my own smile to shine through.

“Really?”

“Sir Dagonet was kind enough to save me from a threatening tree. After that, it was only fitting that we travel on together.” I giggled, inviting Dylan to join in on our joke.

Dylan gave me a confused look, but a small smile played on his lips. “I, er, see, then. Where are you headed?”

“I am going to England. Sir Dagonet has kindly offered to escort me,” I answered.

“To protect you from attacking trees?” Dylan asked, finally allowing himself to dissolve into a chuckle.

“Oh, yes, vitally important to protect young ladies from trees. They can be dangerous things, don’t you know?” Sir Dagonet laughed with him.

“Well, if you would not mind another to help protect you, Scai, I would be honored to do so,” Dylan offered with a bow.

I forced another little giggle. “Never had I thought to have
two
such brave men to protect me on my journey. I am honored indeed.” And this way, I could keep an eye on him.

Chapter Nine

I
moved with care through the forest. It was dense with enormous oak trees and reaching beeches intertwining with majestic hawthorns. This was an old forest indeed.

Gnarled branches reached outward and then twisted back on themselves, creating a beautiful, intricate knot that twisted this way and that. I ran my hand along the rough bark of a tree, following one branch as it wove in and out of the others. Careful to keep hold of the same branch, I moved toward the center.

The branch split and intertwined with other limbs from other trees, like long, reaching fingers. At last, I came to the heart of the knot, where sat a stone, white goblet. Branches blended with the veins in the stone, as if the cup had grown from them like a leaf. But when I reached out for it, I found that the branches were merely cradling the chalice within their gentle claws.

It took both my hands to lift the large cup from its pedestal of branches. It weighed down my arms, and I had to be careful not to spill the fresh, sweet–smelling water that filled it. I couldn’t resist—I tilted the chalice and took a sip.

A burst of sweetness exploded in my mouth, as if I had bitten into the first fruit of summer. I was filled with a heavenly bliss, all of my senses alive to the taste, the smell, the feel of the water in my mouth. Closing my eyes, I let the taste and the feeling of joy wash over me—and suddenly I was flying free, floating in the water, hampered only by the luminescent walls of the goblet all around me. The sides were so far apart I could stretch out my whole body and not reach from one end to the other.

Floating in this blissful chalice, the water gently supporting me, lapping deliciously over my body, I had no fears. All my worries were gone. I was in the right place; I was doing the right thing. I had a purpose, and it was to be here.

I twisted and laughed, joyful beyond anything I had ever felt before. But even as I did so, the water turned freezing cold. Icy fingers poked into my sides, my arms, my legs.