REALM'S END (BOOK OF FEY 1) (26 page)

Lost Keys

The cook woke at first light. She had worked for the magistrate for many years and had come to appreciate her job. The hours were easy and rarely required cooking for more than a few mouths each day.  Often there were no criminals in the cell and the magistrate would be off on his circuit around the county. It was a lonely job though, people either despised her or feared her, but it kept her belly full and the magistrate was an easy man to feed. There was never a need to rise early and she had a soft pallet and would never need to worry about her keep. She shuffled across the kitchen and made ready to go out, to relieve herself, but when she reached down to take her keys from around her neck, she found they were not there. The piece of braided leather hung empty. The old woman shuffled back to her bed. Occasionally, over the years the keys had come loose and she had always found them lost among her bedding.

She leaned her thick body down and pushing her arthritic fingers through the blankets, rummaging for the keys, but after several minutes she did not find them. Her concern rose somewhat, mostly from the growing necessity to go outside.

Bending down further she went to her knees, she struggled, tearing at the pallet, pulling the blankets and straw ticking apart, strewing it across the floor of the kitchen. Still there were no keys. She was flummoxed. The old cook crawled over to the fireplace and used its rough stone face to pull herself back up into standing position. She turned and looked about the room, could they be on the table? She could see the clean empty table top before her; clearly there were no keys hiding there.

Scratching her head, she rubbed her deformed fingers over her dry grey locks. She pulled out the heavy chair from the table and sat down; she needed to think a minute. Where had she last had the keys? Did she have them when she had lain down? Her mind tried to conjure a clear memory of last night, she sat in the chair staring into the tamped down fire for many long moments. Finally she stood up pushing the chair noisily across the stone floor; it was no use there was no memory of anything. She had as usual taken some brandy before turning in. She rose and shuffled slowly across the kitchen, making her way back and forth, searching each cranny as she made her way around the room. Desperate now not only to go out, but to find the keys and restore order before the magistrate arrived. Finally it became apparent even to her that the keys were not in the kitchen. Her scabby nose was wet from crying and she snuffled and wiped at her eyes as she realized that for the first time in her life she had lost the precious keys. She began to fear she would be turned out by nightfall, destitute. Looking around the now sacked kitchen she cried all the harder, surely the magistrate would come and now this mess would also be on his mind, as he heard her story.

She sighed and wiping her eyes, and went off to use the hated chamber pot. She was an ugly woman; she knew that, having been born that way. Her father had kept her till her youth had passed. Only after it was clear she would never marry, he’d pointed at the door of their hut one day and told her to clear off and not return. Maybe if she hadn’t been born with that squared off face, rough and twisted he might have seen his way to keeping her around, but he had grown tired of looking upon her. He had called her a burden, just another mouth to feed. She had gone from his house with its squalor and walked down the road crying. She begged food those first weeks, from their neighbors and slept out of doors, under the warm night sky, until the magistrate having heard of her predicament had road out to find her. He proposed she come and cook for him at the council house. It might be dangerous, living with prisoners, but she would be fed and clothed by the magistrate. She had of course leapt at the idea.

Sighing again, but being a practical woman she took up her broom and began to straighten the kitchen. Perhaps she would find the keys in doing so. If they were still not here, she would walk through the great room, though she felt very little hope of finding them out there, for she rarely used the front entrance or even bothered to track the comings and goings of the citizenry, unless it affected the number of places she served at mealtime. Then if the keys were still not found, she would make a good breakfast for the prisoner and the magistrate, at least then maybe he would remember her years of faithful service and her good food when he leveled the punishment against her. She hurried about her chores. She decided she would pray as she worked, perhaps God would show mercy.

The Magistrate

John Malcom, the traveling magistrate, liked to rise early and after completing his absolutions, he would sit and read by the fire. He was a God fearing man, but he was a well-read man as well. He believed in the new-fangled idea of science, though he rarely shared those ideas with anyone. Such beliefs could get a man hung, or at the very least whispered about behind one’s back. Life was dangerous enough, and bringing any threat upon himself held no appeal to him, and so he was by nature a careful and solitary man.

Each day he would take up whatever treatise he had fallen asleep with the night before and he would begin again in his unquenchable thirst for knowledge. He had never married and had never desired marriage, it wasn’t so much that women didn’t turn his head, for they did, but the books and the reading was of far greater necessity, than love or even comfort. Over the years he had watched as his friends one by one had each succumbed to the wiles of a woman, or gave in to the wearisome pettiness of being alone. He had stood by and watched as bachelor after bachelor took brides just to curb their loneliness.  Few marriages seemed to be made of heaven from what he could observe. An intelligent man with plenty of time to consider the full range of possibilities, he was willing to concede perhaps more went on in a marriage then what one saw in public. Perhaps the best of a marriage was the secret one that went on behind closed doors, or perhaps other people required less from marriage, much less than he could have accepted himself. He couldn’t say which was closer to the truth, but he understood himself enough to realize he wasn’t really interested in trying to find out. He had always liked his aloneness. He didn’t fear it, and as for company, well the books he traded for were always by far the best company. His years had passed easily in this way and he was a congenial and happy man. Even now in his late years, he looked younger than most of his contemporaries, because he followed the rule to do what was right and he listened to his own joy only, never allowing fear, or lack of self-confidence to muddy his thoughts.

John munched on the cold bun; his cook had given him upon his leaving last night, as she had every night for the last 30 odd years. He washed his face and hands and dressed neatly and then taking up his book he sat down by the freshly stoked fire and began to read. Before long he was completely engrossed and he did not bother to look up for several hours.

Finally, lifting up his eyes, he realized that he should be going to the council house; the sun was now high in the morning sky. He sighed, and laid the book aside. Standing tall, he diligently adjusted his clothes; made sure his boots were clean and strode out the door into the village street. Looking up he noted the cloudless blue sky over head as far as he could see. The wind was low and even now he could tell it would be one of those rare perfect days. He turned and set his feet in motion in the direction of the council house. It was an easy walk as the village was small and he liked spending the last few minutes by himself, clearing his mind, bringing it back into the present, for once he arrived his day would be fraught with all manner of decisions, as people brought their concerns for his judgment.

He pushed against the front door of the council house, but it did not give. He pushed again. Nothing happened. His surprise took over momentarily, and then he remembered and removed the bundle of keys from his pocket. Sorting through them he at last located the correct key for the front door. Unlocking the door, he went inside. The scent of cooked food greeted him, meat frying and of bread baking, so he followed his nose to the kitchen. Adella stood before the fire, searing the pork for his and the prisoners breakfast. “Oh good there you are,” he said. He crossed the kitchen making his way toward his cook. Adella turned and he could see from the blotchy discoloration of her skin she had been crying. He was on alert instantly. “What is it? Have you taken sick,” he asked, as he moved around the table to stand near her.”

“Nay sir, it isn’t me, but I’m afraid, I’ve gone and lost the keys.” And with that her face broke open once again, and tears spilled down her cheeks.

“What? Lost the keys? Have you looked everywhere,” he asked, as he moved past her over to her pallet?

Adella turned as well and shook her head. “Of course, I’ve torn the kitchen apart and they are not to be found.”

“Did you lose them in the privy?”

Adella hung her head, “No sir, I wasn’t able to use the privy this morning, and had to use the chamber pot.”

John looked at the old woman in shock. He had known her long enough, to realize that for her, the chamber pot was an embarrassment better left unmentioned. He considered the news, for exactly one minute, and then rushed across the kitchen towards the cellar door. Quickly he unlocked it and made his way hurriedly down the steps and ran the length of the room. He stopped at the cell door and pulled open the watch door, his heart fell. The room was empty. On the floor, the leg iron lay open. He unlocked the door and searched the room thoroughly. Leaving the door open, he ran to the stairs; and bounded up them to the kitchen like a man possessed. No one had ever escaped on his watch. Though he had no hope of saving James’s life, he would not let the man escape proving his innocence either even when the proof would in fact, take the man’s life.

“The prisoner’s gone,” he yelled, as he raced past the old woman out into the great room. He raced up into the rickety gallery and grabbing the rope he strained until he heard the first toll ring out. He stayed at it, pulling the rope letting the bell’s sound peel out over the countryside. The sound would draw half the county, that was what he wanted right now, to draw in all James’s neighbors, he would draw them altogether in a man hunt and he would see James and his whole family back in the cell before night fall or be damned, he would die trying.

A Piece of the Whole

The women stood gathered under the rafters, staring up at the ceiling.

“I don’t see why we can’t use magic to bring it down?”

Hectain pulled the chair over to the wall and stepped up onto its seat. From her vantage she regarded first the object and then looked down at her sisters. “What? Why are you all staring at me?”

Reval and Meredith’s smirks turned into laughter. “While it really isn’t funny sister, it is a bit refreshing to see you managing so splendidly, without magic,” Meredith said, between giggles.

Hectain scowled. “Now do you see why we can’t use magic to get it down,” she said. “Every time we get near this thing or it feels threatened we forget we even know magic.” She climbed down gingerly from the chair.

“Dembys says that it is part of her.”

The sisters turned towards Gwenth.

“What did you say child,” Meredith asked, as she made her way over to where Gwenth lay resting in the bed?

“Dembys says, that what is in the rafter is part of the Dembys. It is from her world.”

“Her world,”Hectain’s face had a startled look. “How is that possible? What is it?”

“Better yet, does Dembys know how to remove it?” Reval breathlessly lowered her bulk onto the now empty chair.

Gwenth cocked her head as she listened to Dembys reply. Turning her attention to the sisters she shared what she had learned. “Yes, she knows what it’s for and it can be removed, but only by the one who set the Dembys in place.”

Meredith stared at Gwenth and Dembys. This news changed everything, but something just didn’t feel right. They were missing something, something important she could sense it. Suddenly Meredith snapped her fingers, “I’ve got it! Dembys wouldn’t the spell have come to an end, when the witch who placed it died?”

Gwenth listened to Dembys. “She says yes, it may end, when they pass.”

Hectain looked at Meredith. “That means Gwenth’s mother didn’t set the spell.”

“Exactly,” Meredith said, turning back to Gwenth. “Ask Dembys if she knows who set the spell.”

Gwenth spoke to Dembys in her mind and listened as Dembys replied. Gwenth turned back to the three sisters. “Dembys does know and you are right it wasn’t my mother. In fact,” Gwenth said, swallowing hard.  “She says mother had no magical powers at all.”

In unison, the sisters spoke. “What? That can’t be! Of course your mother was a witch.”

Gwenth crossed her arms and shook her head belligerently. “No, Dembys says absolutely not. My mother had no magical powers,” tears silently slipped down her cheek, but her voice held firm. “Apparently you have been wrong about the magic. Clearly you can’t tell magical from non-magical. Some witches you are,” she said, her voice trembling.

Meredith cleared the end of the bed and reached out to take Gwenth into her arms, to sooth the child woman.

Gwenth put her hand up. “No, just stay away from me. I don’t want your sympathy after all this. After all you have put my father and me through. After you sent me off to another world, though I couldn’t even do any magic.” Her voice rang out harsh and filled with anger.

Meredith stopped herself mid reach and straightened up as she let Gwenth pour out her anger and hurt on the three sisters. Her heart tore open, with the anguish the girl was going through. She hung her head in shame, for the things Gwenth said were mostly correct, even if not entirely true.

Reval could stand the barrage no longer and lifting her great girth from the chair she stomped her foot hard against the wooden floor, the room shook. “That’s just about enough,” she commanded.  “Yes, clearly we were wrong about your mother and for that we apologize deeply if you will accept it, but as for the rest of what you are saying even you know that it’s hog wash. You my dear, can do magic. You took yourself to the other world, we did nothing more than keep you safe during the start of your journey. We certainly didn’t send you there. It was part of your destiny, and if you would kindly stop and realize that if in fact your mother wasn’t a witch, than you must realize where your magic has come from.”

Both Hectain and Meredith stood in shock staring at Reval for she commanded their attention as well. Suddenly so many things made sense.

“Well if that is so, it still leaves questions unanswered,” Hectain interjected.

Gwenth looked aghast at the three crow sisters. “You three are amazing, you find out my mother in fact isn’t a witch and then what? You turn the blame on my father? You are so conceited!” She very nearly spit the last words out across the room at the women.

Meredith raised her head and looked the girl in the face. “Let’s find out. Ask Dembys.”

“What? No way. I’m not going to ask Dembys anything else.” She rose shakily from the bed. “I just want you all to go away. Leave now,” she said.

“A witch doesn’t shirk the truth because it’s inconvenient,” said Hectain.

Reval looked at the angry young woman, in front of them and she felt her heart nearly break in two. “I can understand your fear child, especially living in this witch hating world, but still we all and especially you must learn the truth, for it may still save Briok’s world.”

Gwenth seethed inside as she stared at the three women. She felt so very tired; her life had become so confusing since they had arrived. Finally she turned inward and spoke with Dembys. She trusted the stone’s goodness beyond all reason. As she listened to the Dembys reply, she felt her head reeling and she tried to reach out for the bed, but the shock of the truth was so great, she instead felt a great darkness fall over her and then she knew no more.

Meredith was the closet and reached out to catch the girl before she fell to the floor. “Sisters help me.”

Hectain and Reval quickly hurried around the bed and taking up the bottom half of Gwenth the three sisters lifted the girl onto the bed.

“Great now what,” Hectain asked?

“Wait I know,” Meredith said reaching out her left hand to Hectain. “Close hands sisters. I think it will be the only way for all of us to hear.”

Hectain reached over and took Meredith’s hand, then she reached over with her left hand and Reval clasped Hectain’s fingers.

Meredith reached down with her right index finger and laid it lightly against the Dembys. The stone flared up, its bright light momentarily blinding them. “Dembys, Gwenth is upset and has fainted. Can you please tell us what you told her?”

Dembys voice rang out in all their heads. “I didn’t think she was strong enough for such information, but those of the same blood have a right, beyond all others,” Dembys’ voice rang out clearly in the three sister’s minds.

Meredith understood immediately. “So because Gwenth and I are of the same blood I too can hear what you told her. Is that right?”

Dembys clear melodic voice sang out, “Yes, you are part of the great circle via the suckling babe and Gwenth is the first born of the old one.”

Reval and Hectain looked quizzically at Meredith. “What old one,” Reval asked?

Meredith waited, but Dembys did not respond.  “Dembys if I ask the question, will you respond?”

“Yes, for you are of the same line now via the babe as I have said. It is our beloved creator that you are joined too.”

Meredith felt her head spinning and her voice shook “Are you saying, that James is a God?”

Dembys voice rang out clear and true. “Yes, of course, we have always known it was so. Did you not suspect when the child was so strong within you? Is it not part of your knowledge since you are a child of a God yourself?”

“Yes…I mean no. Yes our laws say that only a God can impregnate a God, so we all were confused, but we didn’t really suspect James. He appears to have no magic about him.”

Dembys voice rang out in tinkling laughter. “Well it may seem that way, but it’s not true. My other is in the rafter above. That part of myself, takes in all the magic and holds it, waiting for the master who has set it to watch over him, till the master himself lifts the spell.”

Hectain broke the hold between herself and Meredith and began to pace the room.

Meredith watched Hectain pace. Reval stepped closer and took Meredith’s hand.

“Let her be a moment. Finish asking Dembys now.”

Meredith looked into Reval’s wide face and saw the strength clearly displayed in her green eyes. She nodded, and turned back to the Dembys. “Will the child be ok? She seems so weak still?”

Dembys voice sang out sweetly, “The girl is being drained by the magic of great Rowan, for they are now bound, by both the magical branch and her familial tie to Lillith. That world is sick, dying even. To heal, she must return to the other world, and complete her task.”

“Can we remove the part of you from the rafters without harming anyone?”

You may remove the Dembys because you are connected by blood, to the old one, but it would be best to call awaken the God or you will need to plan the timing so as not to miss the entrance.”

Hectain turned and looked at Meredith. “What is she saying about timing?”

Reval and Meredith both swung around to stare at Hectain. “Sister how is it you can hear the Dembys without holding onto me?”

“I have no idea really,” Hectain said shrugging her shoulders. “I didn’t realize it myself till just now.”

“Reval let go of Meredith’s hand. “Ask Dembys please.

Meredith turned back to Dembys. “Dembys, how is it my sisters can hear you now when we could not hear before?”

“You only need to establish contact once after your heart is opened.”

“I see, and when did our hearts open, exactly?”

“Last night when you worked with my other to create a healing for Gwenth, you all three opened your hearts to the girl, and since you were working with the Dembys at the time, we now allow you to communicate directly with ourselves.”

“So can we contact and talk directly to your other piece?”

“Yes of course, you already do, for we are never separate. Other has heard and been part of the answering all along.”

“Will other allow itself to be removed from the rafter?”

“Yes of course,” sang out Dembys. “As we said before we only recommend taking care with your timing.”

“Alright, thank you Dembys. I think my sisters and I need to discuss a plan and then we will consult you again if that is fine.”

“Yes, we will be here to assist you when you are ready to travel.”