The Lion's Crown (The Emberlyn Chronicles Book 1), page 3
“You know things disappear on the bog. He knows that. To just assume—”
“But he was right.”
Penny lowered her eyes and nodded. “George? Can I tell you something else?”
“Yes?”
She glanced at Owen, who was scratching the cat under the chin, seemingly paying no attention to their conversation. “Owen… I think he was talking to… something.”
George Ashberry’s face hardened. “Did you see something?”
“No… maybe. I thought I might have seen something—a shadow—move in the wood. And I might have heard… something. Like a whisper.”
George brought up his hands and began rubbing the dirt off his palms. “Anything happen last night?”
“No. I would tell you if it had, I promise. So if Owen… if something followed him back… well, those things make themselves known in the night, don’t they?”
“I suppose.”
“So we’re safe. I mean, nothing happened last night.”
George shrugged. “I can’t pretend to know the way of such things. No one can. Still, maybe tonight, you and Owen could stay here? For safety?”
Penny looked away, blushing. “That would be frowned upon.”
George stopped wiping at his hands. He reached up and scratched the stubble on his chin. “No one would need to know. I could come get you and Owen after dark. Bring you back home before light. He won’t tell anyone, we know that.”
“George….”
“You… do know how I feel?”
“Of course.”
He nodded. “It’s not like it used to be, you know. A man and a woman… the old folks don’t approve, of course, but younger people like us… well, it is done. No one speaks about it, but it is done.”
Penny focused on the sound of the purring cat. She liked George Ashberry. She had allowed him to get familiar, and they had engaged in certain intimate acts, but he wanted something more now. And she had to admit she might want that as well. She looked up into his warm brown eyes. “Come fetch us after dark,” she said.
He smiled.
“I can’t promise anything, George. I can’t. But we’ll see.”
She stood. “Come on, Owen,” she said, reaching her hand out for her brother. Owen got up, disturbing the cat, who stretched before wandering into George’s hut.
George also stood. He reached out for her other hand and lightly brushed his fingers against hers. She felt a rush travel through her body but did her best not to let him know. “Good bye, George,” she said as she turned away.
Back at their hut, she heated what remained of the stew and let Owen carefully leaf through the one book they owned. It had caught her eye a year before as she’d looked over the wares of a traveling merchant. She’d given all the money she’d had for it, and to this day she couldn’t exactly say why. Neither she nor Owen could read, but that didn’t matter. The ornate, flowing script and the pictures facing each page of text were beautiful in their own right. She had interpreted from the pictures that it was a book of legends. She’d wanted to ask someone in the village to read it to her, but she was afraid of letting anyone know she had it. It felt secret and precious to her, something to keep hidden. Still, she considered taking it with her when George Ashberry came for them. She didn’t know if he could read or not—she’d never seen him reading, at least—but even if he couldn’t, maybe he’d appreciate it the way she did. If she was willing to share other things with him, why not this?
The evening came far too soon for her liking. She’d wanted to make the day stretch on and on and had kept herself idle the rest of the afternoon to that end, but darkness fell at last. She waited with Owen in their hut, with only a single log of peat burning in the fireplace. It was barely enough to see by, but if she would be spending the night with George, she didn’t see any sense in wasting fuel.
When a timid knock came at the door, she jumped up from her chair and grabbed Owen by the hand. He grinned, seemingly excited by the prospect of going out at night. She opened her door and stepped out. George Ashberry pulled her immediately into his arms and kissed her as his hands found their way to the curve of her buttocks. The shock of the embrace quickly faded, and she let herself get lost in the pleasure of it. She had nearly forgotten Owen when she heard him let out a cry of surprise.
“Penny! Look!” he shouted, much more loudly than she liked.
Both she and George turned toward him in time to see his pointing finger follow a wispy black shape as it made its way from the rise of the berm to the shadow of the Fenhold.
Penny let out a gasp and buried her face in George’s arms. He held her with one arm and pulled at Owen with his free hand. “Let’s see what the cat’s doing,” he said in a friendly voice.
Owen smiled at them, his eyes shining in the moonlight, and let himself be led toward George’s hut, which sat farther away from the Bleaklands.
“So!” a voice said coldly from the darkness as they approached his door.
George stepped between Penny and the voice, his fists balled. “Who’s there?”
A shutter was pulled back from a dark lantern, revealing James Tupper’s scowling face. “Penelope Blackmoor and George Ashberry, eh? Planning to lie together like married folk, perhaps?” He clicked his tongue.
Penny hid her face. She was ruined. None of the women in the village would ever look at her again without a knowing smile. And the young men would be worse. They’d assume she was game for all sorts of things.
“You damned fool!” George said.
Surprised at his tone, Penny looked up.
“What did you say to me?” Tupper asked, his face visibly red even in the dim light.
“Somethings out there!” George threw his arm in the direction of the bog. “I couldn’t find my cat and went to see if she’d followed Owen home. And I saw it. Something lurking in the shadows. I alerted Penny and Owen and brought them back here for safekeeping.”
Tupper’s scowl softened as fear crept into his eyes. “Something… lurking?”
“By the tower. Go and see for yourself, if you don’t believe me, Mister Head Watchman.”
Tupper reached for the bell wedged into his belt. He raised it and began swinging it by the handle. From all around, doors were thrown open and voices began muttering. “Alarm! Alarm!” Tupper bellowed. “To the meeting-house! Alarm! Alarm!”
“You told him?” Penny whispered as Tupper moved away, still ringing and yelling.
“If he hadn’t caught us, I would have kept it to myself. But I had to protect your honor. And the village should know about what we saw.”
“They’ll blame Owen.”
George grimaced. “I—I’m sorry. I was thinking of you. Forgive me.”
Penny nodded. “I will.” She took Owen’s hand and began leading him toward the meeting-house. Owen seemed delighted by the commotion, and he was muttering excitedly to himself. It was usually nonsense, but sometimes there were natural-seeming pauses in his words. It was as though, Penny had thought more than once, he was listening to an answer before continuing.
“Remember,” George whispered, “only I saw it. I said I collected you afterward.”
When they reached the meeting-house, around half the village had already gathered. James Tupper was lighting the peat in the stone-lined fire pit in the center of the circular building as people took seats on the low benches along the walls. A second set of benches, nearer the fire pit, was reserved for the village elders.
George Ashberry sat, but Penny gave him an apologetic look and took a seat with Owen on the other side of the meeting-house. He nodded as she moved away, then they all waited as the rest of the village filed in, their faces showing a mixture of confusion, fear and annoyance.
“George Ashberry, please repeat what you told me,” Tupper said once the murmur of the crowd had died down.
George stood and told his story. It didn’t take long, and by the end of it, most eyes in the meeting-house were trained on Owen and Penny.
Penny sat, listening and feeling smaller and smaller as various people stood up, giving their testimony about how Owen Blackmoor must be to blame and how they always knew this would happen. One or two told outright lies, weaving stories about seeing Owen consorting with dark forces, but most in the meeting-house knew these fabrications for what they were.
Finally, Edgar Marsh, the village alderman, stood and quieted the room. His frame was bent with age, but his eyes had never lost the fire of their youth. It was widely accepted that he had the keenest mind in the village, and he could read and write as effortlessly as any nobleman. “What we know for certain,” he said, “is that one man believes he saw something coming out from the bog. Yes?”
Murmurs and nods answered him.
“James Tupper did his duty—perhaps a bit too enthusiastically—but until there is some confirmation of George Ashberry’s sighting, we mustn’t panic. And we mustn’t go placing blame neither.” He turned to Tupper. “Now, you form a watch of ten men, yourself included. We will deploy this watch every night for a week, and if nothing is seen in that time, we will conclude that George Ashberry, sober and reliable man though he may be, was mistaken. We all know how the bog plays tricks on the eyes.” He waved his hand toward the door. “All of you go home now, and make as much noise as you can until you’re safely back in your beds. If something is out there, maybe the commotion will drive it away.”
Penny remained seated as the others left the meeting-house. When there were only a dozen or so people waiting to leave, she stood and tried to inconspicuously go out with them. She felt George step up beside her. He’d waited as well.
“If you still want to stay with me,” he said once they were out of earshot of anyone else, “you are welcome.”
Penny shook her head. “I don’t know what we saw, but with all the noise people are making, I think we’ll be safe. I’m sorry. Perhaps another night?”
She took his hand in hers, but they didn’t dare kiss, not with so many people awake and alert. She let him hold her hand until they were back at her hut, and he turned away as she closed the door.
“Go to bed, Owen,” she said as she began building a fire. It was a warm night, but she wanted the light more than the heat. Half an hour later, once the fire was burning nicely, she got into her own bed, leaving the privacy curtain pulled back so she could see the flames. Owen was already snoring. He always fell right to sleep, and she wondered if it came from having a simple, untroubled mind.
For an hour, she watched the shadows in the darkest corners of the hut, waiting for one of them to shift. The thing she thought she’d seen in the Hobswood… had it been the same as the shadow coming up off the bog? Maybe something had followed Owen. Or perhaps it had followed her? Even now, it might be lurking just outside her door. Owen eventually stopped snoring. The stillness of the night was only occasionally broken by the voices and footsteps of the men on the watch, and between their passings, the silence was almost unbearable.
Chapter Four
The Divination
Sir William spent a fitful night. He dreamt of Ivy, the king’s concubine. She was in his bedchamber in the tower overlooking the granaries. He was by the window, and he caught her scent as she approached him from behind. Her arms were around him; her hands were fumbling at his belt buckle….
The servant Quentin was knocking at William’s door long before he was ready to leave his bed. Frowning, he bunched up the covers above him and told the man to enter. He brightened as he saw the breakfast tray in Quentin’s hands.
“After you breakfast, Sir William, your presence is requested in the observatory.”
“The observatory?”
“Morien’s workshop.” He said the last word with a hint of a sneer. William understood his perspective. Alchemy, divination, magic… he personally felt they had been outlawed because such things didn’t really exist. The select few who were bold enough to become a king’s advisor could then do as they pleased, with no one to contradict them. It was certainly suspicious that the king’s astrologer was the only one in the entire kingdom permitted to pursue such things.
Sir William ate his breakfast quickly. No matter his opinion, it wouldn’t serve him to keep Morien waiting, especially if the man had the king’s ear. When he was ready, he stepped into the hall to find Quentin beside his door. “This way, Sir William.”
As before, he was led across the castle, but this time he was taken beyond the great hall and throne room. They went up another tower. It was one of the two large towers along the side walls of the castle; the four corner towers were only half the size as these. When they reached the top landing, Quentin opened the door—they were apparently expected—and he let William through before closing it again.
William didn’t have a chance to take in the observatory; standing at the center of the room was King Edward. William immediately bowed, his eyes on the floor.
“Up, up, Sir William,” sang Edward’s airy voice. “We are not surrounded by my court here. We may speak and act freely, as one man to another.”
William stood. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He looked past the king to study the room. Shelves ran along one half of the curved wall. They were dominated by books and stacks of loose parchment, but one section contained glass jars filled with liquids, powders and dried plant and animal parts. To his left was something he’d only read about: a telescope. He followed the length of the bronze tube up to the top of the chamber, where two great wooden doors had been placed in the roof. A ladder rising up one wall led to a hinged crossbar. From the top of the ladder, it could be slid aside, letting the doors drop open. How they were closed again, he couldn’t quite figure out.
His eyes wandered to his right. Three long worktables were placed end to end, and at the center table sat Morien, poring through one of his books.
“We are here,” said King Edward, “to settle the details of your expedition.”
William smiled. “Yes, I have been considering that. Since we don’t know the nature of the terrain inside the wood, it will be best to go in on foot rather than on horseback. I believe a party of twenty soldiers and five or six servants in support—”
The king held up his hand. “Morien will determine the size of the party.”
“Your Majesty?”
“He has access to knowledge beyond you or me. We will take advantage of that.”
William nodded, but a frown passed over his face as Edward turned and approached Morien. He followed and looked over the astrologer’s other shoulder.
“This,” said Morien, “is a star chart.”
William looked down at the array of dots and curved lines. He recognized familiar constellations, but the text naming them was written in a script he couldn’t read.
“Yes,” Morien continued, “it is an auspicious time for such an endeavor. The Fire Star is high in the sky at midnight. It will guide you.”
William looked at the red dot Morien was pointing to. The Fire Star was unlike all the other stars. It was larger by far, the size of a pea held at arm’s length, and it moved more swiftly across the sky. There were three other pinpoints of light that moved faster than the rest of the stars, but none of them had the size or blood-red coloring of the Fire Star. In all the faiths known to Sir William, it was considered special—sacred. Even the House of Emberlyn believed it was a sign they had been chosen to rule.
“Although the light of the Fire Star is not enough to see by,” Morien said, “it will guide you notwithstanding. Look to it during your journey.”
William wanted to ask exactly what the astrologer meant, but he didn’t think he’d get any more information than that. Such men were known for their cryptic declarations.
“Now,” said the astrologer, “we will read the signs to determine the number of your party.” He picked up a leather bag at his elbow and shook its contents onto the star chart. Fourteen or fifteen stones, bones, sticks and shells fell out and scattered across the open page. They all had angular letters and symbols carved into them.
Morien made a show of pointing out the positions of certain bones or shells relative to the positions of the stars, but William failed to see the significance of what he was showing him. King Edward, on the other hand, seemed enraptured by the process. He nodded or let out an understanding grunt at each of Morien’s proclamations. He asked an occasional question—reasonable questions, William thought—but each of Morien’s responses was more ambiguous than the last. Even so, the king seemed satisfied by the routine.
Morien gathered up the divinatory articles, turned the page and cast them again over a new star chart. He did this several more times, and after nearly half an hour of it, William had stopped listening altogether.
“So, it is settled,” Morien said.
William looked up into the astrologer’s eyes. “It is?”
“You will be a party of five men.”
“Five?” William turned to the king. “Your Majesty, surely there must be some mistake.”
The king pursed his lips. “One of the previous expeditions consisted of one hundred men. If they did not return, perhaps the size of the party is not what matters.” He put his hand against William’s chest. “Perhaps it is the character of the men. And after all, a smaller party can move quickly and quietly. Perhaps that is what is needed in the Hobswood.”
William nodded. The king hadn’t been upset by his challenge, but he didn’t dare push his luck.
“So, including yourself, two of your party have already been selected,” Morien said.
“Yes, yesterday it was mentioned that another had been chosen. Who is this man you’ve decided upon? Another knight, I assume?”
“Do you remember,” said King Edward, “the story of the man who went in with one of the expeditions and returned insane?”
“Yes.”
“When I began planning my expedition, I sent men to the villages along the bog to gather whatever information the Bleaklanders might have. One returned with a most interesting claim. There is a young man in one of those villages who went into the Hobswood as a child. He also returned. It is said the experience damaged his mind, but he is not insane, not like the only other man who returned.”
