Pagan Fire (6 page)

Seelie nodded. She bent down and scooped up a handful of yellow flowers and handed them to Maere. “I’ll keep you in my prayers. And don’t fret. Just as you promised to protect me, I’ll protect you. No one will ever know.”

“Thank you,” Maere said, relief washing over her. “If anyone found out, I’d be beaten for certain. And who knows what else the sisters and monks would do.” She turned to face the small building and took a deep breath. It was time she entered and began her period of meditation. She dropped to her hands and knees as the entry was low and could only be accessed by crawling on one’s elbows. Maere pushed the gifts into the opening, gave the world behind her one last look, then crawled into the passage.

Once inside, she stood, and hit her head on the ceiling. With a grimace, Maere leaned slightly forward and rubbed the sore spot. She wasn’t as tall as some, yet the anchorage was too short for her to stand straight.

Still rubbing her head, Maere looked about. The room was completely bare except for an uncomfortable-looking straw mattress covered in homespun, a spindly wood chair, and the items she’d brought with her. To her left, a narrow window was carved into the thick plaster-coated and whitewashed wall. A black wool curtain, embroidered with a white cross on both sides, hung loosely over it.

As she was looking about, someone passed by, casting her shadow through a small hole in the fabric. Maere jumped. She hadn’t expected anyone to come so soon. She waited near the window for the person to begin talking, as it was improper for the anchorite to start a conversation. It was the duty of the one seeking advice to initiate the contact.

“Maere? It’s Abbess Magrethe.”

“Yes, Mother?”

“I wanted to tell you to have faith. I’m most certain the Lord will guide you in this endeavor.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Maere said. “I will not lose heart.” She watched as the shadow moved away without replying, then went to the task of arranging her belongings.

The room was barely large enough for the meager items that served as furnishings, let alone for what she’d brought with her. Maere lightly tested the seat of the chair with her fingers and a spider climbed out of the middle of the woven rushes. It moved slowly, as if it had woken from a long nap. She cautiously touched the seat again and the spider sprang to life. Its long legs darted in front of it as it rounded the back of the chair, disappearing from sight.

Maere frowned. “Well, Sir Spider, I suppose I’ll be looking before sitting from now on.” She bent to retrieve the rough woven sack carrying her belongings and dumped the contents onto the mattress. From the bag, she gently removed the tiny wooden cross she’d made shortly after arriving at the convent. She ran her fingertips over the dark wood, the knife marks of her carving still evident. Abbess Magrethe had suggested she make it as an exercise to focus her mind. Busy hands, happy heart, she repeated again and again.

But Maere’s heart had been anything but happy. Eight winters old, her mind was a blank, save for a few flashes. Fire. Dying cows. Shouting, though she could attach no face to the sound. The simple act of making the cross served to rescue a little girl from a sadness so immense it threatened to drown her.

Maere had tried over and over since then to make peace with the fact that she might never know the cause of that deep sadness. Even now, it still welled up within her from time to time. During those rare moments when her mind wasn’t occupied with prayer or her hands with chores, it would creep in from the edges of her memory. As water followed the moon, so did melancholy follow an idle moment.

She took a deep breath, forcing a small smile. Gently, she hung the cross on a peg driven into the stone over the mattress. She tilted it first this way, then that, adjusting the object until it hung just right.

On the peg next to it, Maere looped the necklace she’d somehow managed to keep all these years. Magrethe tried to take it from her that first day, whispering something about pagan relics and the ungodly ways of the Dumnonii.
Maere always wondered if she was one of these people. She heard enough whispers amongst the sisters to believe she must be. But, like the night before, the Abbess was loathe to answer detailed questions.

Despite Magrethe’s efforts, Maere was able to keep possession of the only reminder of her life before entering St. Columba’s. She had no idea what the circular citrine stone looped on a leather thong meant. The only tangible link to her past, she often wondered if it was a gift from her family. Or perhaps it was something she’d made herself as a child? She sighed. All Maere knew for certain was it gave her comfort when she was distressed and helped her to remember she once had a mother and a father.

Maere sighed again as she sat on the edge of the mattress. Hugging her knees tightly against her chest, she glanced around the room before stretching out. “Saint Jude Thaddeus, dear patron of lost causes, is there any hope left for me?” she wondered aloud, as she drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

Maere awoke long after the sun had set. She stood and walked to the window. Dare she? She wondered for only a moment before venturing a peek outside. A sliver of the waxing moon appeared high in the night sky, surrounded by a smattering of stars. It was late and the sisters would be in bed, fast asleep, waiting for the bell to ring time for prayers.

She pulled the curtain closed along its smooth wood rod. Now what? She was no longer tired. She paced for a bit, then decided she should pray. Pulling her habit up slightly in front, she knelt in the center of the room and made the sign of the cross over her breast. She pressed her black wooden prayer beads to her lips.

“Our Father, which art in heaven.” She stopped. A formal prayer didn’t seem appropriate. She needed to say exactly what she was thinking. It might not be the polite thing to do, where God was concerned, but Maere was determined to find the hidden meanings of her distress. Ah, she’d pray to the Blessed Virgin to intercede on her behalf!

She raised her eyes to heaven. “Forgive me, Mother, for addressing you so informally. I don’t know what to tell you first. I only know that for some reason, I’m suddenly frightened by everything.” She looked down. “Well, maybe not so suddenly. We both know I’ve always been too nervous about the silliest things.” She looked to heaven once again. “But I tell you, this time it’s different. It’s as if the devil himself is after me.” She shook her head. “I just don’t know what to do any longer.”

She grew silent, thinking, her eyes focused on the wall in front of her. An image flashed in her mind. Maere blinked. It came back even stronger. She tried to clear her mind again, but this time the picture stayed. She watched, transfixed, as the scene unfolded as if it were projected onto the wall and not of her mind.

A tall, thin man in flowing white robes rode a pale gray horse. She squinted. There was something familiar about him, although he wasn’t the same red-eyed demon who usually haunted her nights. This was someone, or something, else. He rode hard, sweat flying from his brow like a shower of rain. He rode first in one direction, then pulled his horse around and rode in another, as if he were searching for something. Something he’d lost and couldn’t remember how to find.

“Dear Mother, what is happening?” she whispered, unable to remove her eyes from the sight. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I beseech you, take this demon of the dark away from me. I beg you, have mercy on my soul.”

The man rode closer and closer, until his face was clearly revealed. He had bobbed gray hair and dark eyes, which seemed to pierce through the night. They scanned the countryside, stopping, finally, when they met hers. Then he laughed, the sound seeming to fill the anchorage, though Maere knew it was only inside her head.

“There you are, Maere cu Llwyr. Have you missed me?” His voice was nothing more than a soft hiss. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there for you soon.”

Maere closed her eyes tightly and covered them with her fists. She began to sob as the face dissolved from sight. “Oh dear God, am I going mad? What evil is this that haunts me?” She fell forward, prostrate on the compacted dirt floor, her body shaking as she cried uncontrollably. “I beg you, Mother so blessed. Please. Please. Intercede for me. Have mercy on my immortal soul.”

Chapter Six

Dylan looked out into the distance as he walked, taking note of a pillar of smoke rising from the next hillock beyond his vision. It twisted and drifted on the wind, suddenly filling the air with the stench of burning animal flesh. A noise up the road sent him a few steps into the tree line. The fire meant one of two things: Either the farmer had diseased livestock, or those Norse scavengers had been through here recently.

The sound of clopping horse’s hooves, mixed with intermittent curses, reached Dylan’s ears and he quickly stepped deeper into the cover of the forest. He watched in stunned silence as a group of Vikings rode by, dragging prisoners behind them. A few older men, a young woman, and several children were joined with ropes tied from wrist-to-wrist, the lead held tight by one of the riders. They came from the direction he was headed.

Fear grabbed him. Had the abbey been raided? There was no way to know, but he wouldn’t see his journey to Maere delayed even a moment longer. The strong oaks and pliable willows parted their branches as he entered their shared world, dipping low and brushing away his footprints as he passed. A chance encounter with anyone could prove a problem that would serve to keep him from his betrothed. And ten years had been long enough to wait.

Truth be told, if any Vikings came upon him, they probably wouldn’t be interested, lone poor traveler that he was. He had nothing to steal, but there was always the chance he might be taken as a slave. Most he might meet would be simple folks, pious pilgrims on a journey of faith, much too eager in their zeal to convert him to the new religion. Dylan snorted. This Christianity was surely a scourge on the land just as powerful as those raiders from the north.

It baffled him that his countrymen could lose the faith of their forebears so easily, that they could come to believe one god was able to care for this entire world. As vast as it was, it seemed too large an endeavor for one deity. The old ways made much more sense to Dylan, with a particular god or goddess assigned to a specific duty. At least then one knew whom to pray to, who to ask for what you needed.

Take Morrigu, he thought. If he were going into battle he most definitely would ask The Morrigan for assistance.

A full round breast came to mind.

Associated with water, she was sometimes responsible for rebirth or new beginnings as well.

A slim pale leg.

Long raven hair.

And he had certainly been reborn under her tutelage.

Dylan leaned against a tall willow, its long thin branches dusting the forest floor around him. He closed his eyes and pushed thoughts of the goddess away. He needed to focus on Maere now. It was nearly the beginning of her eighteenth year and Eugis would be on his way to retrieve her. Ripe she’d be for the taking, and her uncle wouldn’t hesitate, intent on ripping her power from her.

Keltoi legends spoke of a girl born under the triple signs of the goddess, a girl who would carry with her the great power of healing. And Dylan had been there to see the signs with his very own eyes, that cold night so long ago, when Manfred held Maere out to him.

Dylan touched the willow and smiled, remembering how she hunted the fays, those little people of the hills and woods, intent on catching a glimpse of their small forms. It seemed an entire lifetime had come and gone since they’d played in the forest as children. Full of mischief she had been, much like those same fays she sought.

“Psst!” Maere had half whispered, half shouted for him. “Dylan!

He could still hear her – see her as if from far away – as she waved one hand discreetly behind her, beckoning him, the other shading her bright green eyes. The dapples of sunlight that littered the forest floor had found their way through the thick foliage and straight to her. She dropped her hand and shifted over a few feet.

She’d always hated the bright light, he remembered. She’d come to believe the sun goddess was out to make her life miserable. Dylan laughed in spite of himself as that day came to life before him.

Maere had glanced cautiously out of the corner of her eye at the rays, praying to the moon goddess for protection. “Please, Nimue, keep Bel at bay,” she pleaded quietly under her breath.

She again whispered impatiently to her friend. “Come h – e – e – e – r – r – r – r – e.”

Dylan carefully picked his way along the path Maere had made through the damp underbrush, his awkward feet stepping as lightly as they could over the fallen branches. “What is it?” he demanded, lowering his voice when she raised a finger to her lips. “I was practicing my recitations when you called. And if I don’t have my new verses memorized for tomorrow night’s Beltane feast, your father will have my hide.” He glanced behind him and smiled. “What little he’s left of it, that is.”

“Shhh! Keep your voice down!” Maere hissed. “Oh, please, Dylan. They’ll hear you!”

“Who’ll hear me?” he asked, dropping to his knees. He scooped up a handful of pebbles and looked around. “I see no one, Maere.” He let them sift slowly out of his hand and they formed a small pile on the ground.

She pointed directly in front of her friend. Tall willow trees, their thin yellow-green branches trailing low on the ground, surrounded a small clearing. Wildflowers of white and purple were just beginning to bloom and dotted a smaller circle in the middle of the trees. Maere rubbed her hands together, barely able to contain her excitement at the find. “
They
will.”

Dylan leaned over, his cheek almost touching hers. “Move it, you.” He pushed her out of the way to get a better look. A blackbird jumped from one of the willows to a hawthorn growing nearby. It snatched a dark red berry then flew off. Dylan tugged impatiently at his brown tunic, then leaned back on his heels, hands on his knees. He gestured toward the spot. “You called me all the way over here to see a silly bird?”