Avelynn: The Edge of Faith (37 page)

Voices carried through the breeze. I gripped the oars tighter and increased the pace.

I rowed far enough out to avoid rocks and crags, but not so far that I would lose my bearings.

I tried to keep my pace consistent, but after a few hours, my back and arms ached, my hands clammy with sweat. After my altercation with Sigberht, my body screamed to stop. I pushed the discomfort aside; dawn loomed a couple of hours away.

The moon scuttled through the clouds, keeping the dark outline of land within sight. No matter how hard I had tried to commit the shape of the coast to memory when I was held captive on the Welsh ship, at the moment, I didn’t know where I was or how far away the strait remained.

Each strike of the oars chimed off the minutes I had left until dawn. The sea rolled calm, and the weather held clear. I thanked the Goddess for her beneficence. But despite the gentle rolling of the waves against the sides of the curragh, my mind thrashed in turmoil. Two days. The battle with Hyffaid could have raged. Alrik could be dead. Angharad’s voice echoed in the brined air, closing in on me. It became hard to breathe. After all I’d endured, I couldn’t give up hope now. My mother had appeared to me when she passed. I’d visited with Muirgen in the Otherworld. If I could commune with the dead, surely I would have felt or seen something if Alrik were gone. I looked into the roiling darkness. The question lit upon the tip of my tongue, but paralyzing fear drew it back. I would not ask the unseen forces if Alrik was alive. A tremor ran through me. I would make it back to Llanbadarn, and Alrik and I would leave Wales alive and well, once and for all. I gripped the oars tighter.

After what seemed an eternity of rowing, and circuitous thoughts, the weak light illuminated two cliffs far apart from each other. A long, wide stretch of flat ground spanned between them. A delta. I peered through the darkness. It was far too small to be the strait, but judging by the faint tinge to the horizon, my veil of night was lifting. Praying this was an overland river, I pushed for shore.

In the still hour before dawn, as the sky took on a pale, haunting glow, I rowed into the mouth of a wide, sandy bay. I scanned the dull pitch around me. I had no idea where the settlements were. There might be farmsteads or villages nearby. I had to find cover.

A raven’s throaty caw caught my attention. It dived and swooped above me. Never one to ignore an omen, I steered the boat, following the black wings as they soared in flight. Just past first light, I turned into the river’s mouth.

I didn’t see anyone as I surveyed the surrounding countryside, but that didn’t mean no one had seen me. The riverbed cut through the landscape, creating small grassy embankments on either side. Low shrubs and scattered trees offered little protection.

I followed the winding route upstream until the trees thickened and exhaustion demanded my surrender. With arms as limp as seaweed, I dragged the curragh onto shore, tucking it in a low ditch. I concealed it with fallen branches and leaves. A short walk brought me out of the trees to scrub pasture land. A stone church tower peeked through the swaying grass, desolate in the distance.

I frowned and turned back, a growing sense of urgency gnawing at my gut. I had to find somewhere to sleep. By now, Sigberht would be aware of my disappearance. My eye still ached. I touched the swollen flesh. He’d be furious. I hoped Rhodri received the price on my head first.

The raven croaked. I craned my head to listen. It called again. I stumbled over roots and branches, following the sound. The bird perched on a small mound.

It looked like a burrow. As I approached, the bird took flight. Had it been a messenger from the Goddess? Or perhaps my grandmother had sent it. The notion that they still watched over me gave me hope. I bent down and brushed leaves and twigs away from a narrow opening.

Judging by the size of the pile and dryness of the debris, the detritus had been there at least since last fall. Most of the animals who hibernated would have awoken by now. I unsheathed the knife. The den appeared empty, but there was only one way to find out.

I jabbed the knife in front of me, sweeping it side to side ahead of my body. I used my elbows to propel me forward as I crawled on my stomach. When the knife reached the back of the burrow and nothing had yelped, hissed, or growled, I exhaled in relief.

I maneuvered into the tight space and lay down on my side, curling into a ball. I would ache from the inability to stretch out, but it was hidden, warm, and safe. Nothing could have felt more wonderful.

When I woke, the light outside the burrow had dimmed. I emerged from my hiding place and scanned the quietude, grateful the swelling around my eye had diminished enough to have my full vision back. The aches and pains were another matter. From the altercation with Sigberht, to rowing, fleeing for my life, and sleeping in a tight wedge, every part of my body throbbed in protest. I was wound tighter than a spindle whorl.

A gentle breeze lifted fluttering leaves. Insects buzzed. I scanned the river. I could try to row a little farther upstream—perhaps get closer to the road Angharad had spoken about—or follow the riverbed on foot. I didn’t know what the terrain would be like ahead. The river could open up and tumble into rapids, or I might face long expanses of scrub field with no hope of cover. I remembered the church I’d seen this morning and thought of Eadfrith’s pilgrimage to Rome. He’d suggested I borrow one of the nun’s robes to hide my identity. Maybe there was a monastery nearby. The possibility lifted my spirits.

I climbed up the small embankment and stood within the shade of trees. I eyed the church as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. I could make out no other dwellings or buildings nearby. The odds of finding a cloister of nuns was remote at best. I supposed a monk’s robe would work just as well. They were loose fitting, and there would be no way to make out my gender in the heavy garments. I frowned. Short of stumbling upon a priest with his back turned and head bent in prayer, rendering him unconscious, and stealing his vestments, I wasn’t sure how I’d get my hands on his clothes. At this point, however, it was the best plan I had.

I ate some of the food Angharad had packed in the satchel and waited for the sun to relinquish her hold on the land. I kept the church’s tower in sight until it disappeared into the inky sky. No moon peeked out from the thick down of clouds. It was pitch black. Only the faint, occasional flicker of light from a distant window called like a fairy’s fire, luring me to my death. It would be a dangerous journey across land I didn’t know and couldn’t see. I set out, the slow, careful walk taking me much longer than I’d expected, each moment chipping away at my hope.

There were a few windows peeking out from the nave. They spilled warm candlelight onto the ground around the stone foundation. I peered inside. Several men knelt in front of the altar, observing the night vigil. With so many monks inside, there must be a dormitory. If I could find where they slept, I might be able to acquire a robe.

The faint light from the windows stretched only so far. Beyond its reach, the blackness swallowed up the surroundings. I would have to wait until they stopped praying and made their way back to their beds.

I kept to the shadows beyond the halo of pooling light and waited. When the night office ended, men shuffled across the courtyard, oil lamps in hand. I followed behind, watching the lights bob and dip through the air. I remained far enough distant that they wouldn’t hear my footfalls over the gentle swishing of their robes.

The disembodied lights led me down a slight incline. They followed a well-worn path through farmland until they disappeared behind a solid oak door. With only a few hours before dawn, the priests would have to leave again for matins. There was no telling how many would leave or how many were in the dormitory to begin with. Conscious of every passing moment that Alrik’s neck lay in a noose, I resigned myself to the inevitable. I would have to wait until daylight, when the group would attend mass.

I sank into my cloak, wrapping the fabric tight. The sturdy wood building blocked the wind, but the air was cold. Now that I’d stopped moving, the weight of my plight wore heavy on my shoulders. The chill seeped into my weary bones.

A dark and moody sky lightened, threatening rain. I sought the shelter of a small shed, hiding behind sacks of grain. Fighting the desire to curl up and fall asleep, I kept a focused vigil on the dormitory, waiting for the exodus to begin. Finally, eight men shuffled up the hill together.

I crept around the side of the building. The windows had been thrown open to let in a clearing breeze. I poked my head inside. The room was empty. I darted to the front door and tried the lock. Nothing.

Unable to budge the heavy plank door, I returned to the window. With some grunting and hoisting, I tumbled inside. Despite the clumsy cacophony of my entry, another quick sweep of the beds assured me no one remained behind.

I moved quickly through the chests at the end of each bed. The Goddess smiled upon me. I happened upon not only a robe, but a belt, a wooden cross, and a stash of bread and cheese. Wrapping my costume in a sheet of linen, I sent a silent thank you upwards, tucked my contraband under an arm, shoved the extra food in my satchel, and ran to the door.

I froze. Blue eyes wide with shock locked onto mine, while thin lips framed an open mouth. I stumbled backward. The monk spoke in Welsh, the unanswered question hanging in the air.

I brushed aside my kirtle and withdrew the knife from its scabbard. I took a step closer and held the point against the man’s chest. The tip of the steel rested against the gold of his cross. He dropped to his knees and rocked back and forth, praying.

“I’m so sorry,” I said in English and glanced up the path. No one else followed. Yet. I grabbed his forearm and hauled him inside. He wore a simple braided cord belt. I untied it from his waist and wrapped it around his wrists. He continued his muttering and beseeching. I fished a length of fabric from one of the chests. It was a finely worked cloth, perhaps intended for a stole. Now, it served as a gag. I apologized again, but I couldn’t have him calling out for help. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t help either. I half pulled, half dragged him to one of the far beds. Using the remainder of the belt, I lashed him to one of the posts. I couldn’t kill an innocent man, but leaving him alive increased my chances of being caught. He’d seen my face, but at least he hadn’t seen what I was carrying.

Hesitant to try the door again, I climbed out the window. A faint sound in the distance caught me up short: rhythmic thudding. The sound was unmistakable. Horses. They must be visiting the monastery. I ran for a low ditch. Clutching my absconded goods, I scrambled on hands and knees and hid behind a hawthorn bush.

The horses passed within several feet of where I crouched, but rather than turn up toward the church, they continued on. I watched the last horse’s rump disappear around a bend. A well-traveled swath of dirt stretched before me. I’d found the road.

I changed out of my kirtle and donned my new robe. I tried to draw the hood up, but it snagged and pulled at my hair. That gave me pause. Even with my hair tied back, it was still long, and clearly feminine. If anyone were to see it, it would give away the disguise. I closed my eyes and sought fortitude. I would need to cut it. At least I didn’t need a tonsure—Eadfrith had managed to get away without one—but I would have to cut it above my ears.

Sigberht would be looking for Avelynn, an English lady. If questioned, the monk I’d encountered would only corroborate that impression with the story of a strange woman traveling these parts.

I took a deep breath in and pulled out my knife.

The weather, which had been gracious so far, turned vengeful, with a cold wind and lashing rain. The hood of my cloak did little to keep the moisture out of my face. The hard-packed road became a muddy slide, and I kept to the grass along its edge.

I was terrified someone would ride past and ask questions, demanding to know my business. Or worse, Sigberht and Rhodri would barrel down the road with a hundred men out for blood. Thank the Goddess, only a handful of riders passed by, and no one stopped to inquire about me or my travels. The weather did a fine job of pressing them onward to dry homes and warm hearths.