Pagan Fire, page 5
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?”
“Of course not!” She pushed him back and looked at the clearing again. She studied the base of the trees and circle of flowers from where she sat. Finally, Maere stood and shook the green moss off her skirt. “Well, that’s just fine, it is.” She leaned over Dylan and pointed a finger in his face. “You scared ‘em, you foolish, noisy boy. No wonder they ran and hid. Why, I heard you comin’ myself when you were still half a mile away.” She snorted. “A fine priest you’ll make. How are you goin’ to cast secret ceremonies when everyone’ll know where you are just by the sound of your big silly feet?”
Dylan squared his shoulders and raised his chin. “I am not a boy. I’ve lived through almost fourteen winters.”
“Are too.” Maere stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes. “A wee babe, you are. I’m surprised you’re not cryin’ for your Da.”
It was Dylan’s turn to stick out his tongue. He then crossed his arms over his chest, a burst of maturity overcoming him, and considered the girl coolly. “As usual, Maere, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He looked back at the clearing. “Just who, or what, have I scared off?”
Maere spun around and eyed him. In a fury, she rammed her shoulder into Dylan and shoved him backward as hard as she could. His gangly legs shot out from underneath him and he hit the ground with a yelp. He slowly pushed himself up on his haunches and rubbed his backside, groaning. “What’d you do that for?”
Maere stood over him, hands on her hips. She wrinkled her freckled nose and looked down. “For frightenin’ the fays, that’s why. They were gatherin’ toadstools, for dinner no doubt, and you shooed them away.” She sighed, wistful. “Why, I believe I even saw the queen herself there, with her long golden hair a-flowin’ behind her.” She lifted her own bright coppery tresses up over her head and let them float down.
Dylan scrambled to his feet. “I shooed them away? You were the one hollering for me to come see what you’d found.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she sniffed. “If you were the least bit concerned, you’d have come a whole lot quicker and been a whole lot quieter.” With a flip of her skirt, she turned and stomped away.
“Fays, indeed,” Dylan said, half-aloud. “Well, I’ve never seen one!” he shouted after her. “I think you made it up, I do!”
Maere shot him a look over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed. Without a word, she continued to walk toward home.
The woodsy chiming of wind-rustled leaves brought Dylan back to the present. Would she be the same as that girl? Full of fire and life – a force of nature – she was. When she made up her mind, there was no stopping Maere cu Llwyr. Or had the sisters of the abbey forced the life out of her, made her docile and quiet? The Maere he knew wouldn’t let anyone or anything change her or her mind. Eugis had tried, threatening beatings if she didn’t do as he said. Manfred always stepped in, though, and protected her from his twin. Now it was Dylan’s turn to watch over her and protect her as he had promised.
He swiped at his eyes. There had been so much friction between Eugis and his brother Manfred back when he and Maere were young. Intent on the events surrounding Maere’s birth and the belief she was blessed, Eugis demanded Manfred betroth him to the girl. Ignoring his brother’s desperate bid for more power than was already afforded him as a Dyrrwed high priest, Manfred instead betrothed her to Dylan during the Beltane celebration. The very same night Manfred and Rhea and Fox were murdered.
While Dylan knew in his mind there was nothing he could have done to prevent the slaughter, his heart told him otherwise. And so he grew into a man, his entire being intent on taking back what had been stolen from him. He’d not let Eugis win this time. He would take Maere and her power before her uncle had the chance.
He shook off the thoughts of the past. It would do no good now to ponder what might have been. The day had moved into night and tomorrow would see him at the abbey. Dylan pulled a blanket from his pack and spread it on the ground, on the soft leaf-littered floor surrounding the tree. Lying down, he wrapped the wool covering around his shoulders and forced his body to relax.
Dylan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Another deep breath and he searched his mind. Where was she? Another breath and he moved deeper into a trance. Yes. His spirit found hers. She was asleep. He inhaled again and, as he exhaled, sent his essence to Maere, sent his spirit to her dreams.
Maere slept quietly on the narrow anchorage cot, her chest gently rising and falling. She sighed and rolled from her side to her back. A thin ray of moonlight found its way through the window, carried on the cool night breeze as it pushed and tugged at the curtain.
She sighed again, her full lips parted. A voice entered her dream. I’ve missed you. And in an instant, she was in the forest, near a gentle splashing stream. She kicked the covers away, falling further into the dream.
She knelt at the water’s edge and looked at her reflection. Her long auburn hair fell over her shoulders and danced on the liquid surface. The perfume of night flowers filled the air around her. A dragonfly darted by. Maere held out her hand and it landed on her palm.
Sensing another’s presence, she looked beyond her hand. There, at the forest edge, was the shadowy form of a man. He held his arms out to her.
Maere stood. “Come to me,” he whispered. And she went to his open arms eagerly, without hesitation. He held her close, stroking her cheek, murmuring words in the old language of the emerald hills that were her home. No, she thought. This was her home. Here. With him.
As Maere dreamed, a dense fog began to work its way under the anchorage door. It crept in silently, long thin tendrils stretching out into the room. Maere stirred and lost the gentle dream of safe arms and comforting words as the wind whipped the curtain. She sighed and drifted back to sleep.
The fog continued its course, hugging the floor, moving silently forward. It reached the edge of the mattress and floated upward. A long finger of smoke reached out and caressed a bare ankle. The fog moved along Maere’s exposed calf. It traveled up and over the mattress until it completely enveloped her.
Maere stirred again. Her hand moved, guided by the fog, over her cheek, down her throat, and across her chest. She pushed back the blanket and her hand returned to her breast. Still sleeping, she rubbed the rosy nipples into hardness through her thin shift. Maere sighed and wet her lips dreamily as her hand drifted down her belly. She imagined her gown was being gently lifted by some unseen force as her fingers continued to trail down to her thighs. She let them rest there for a moment until her hands started to move again.
She caught her breath as her fingers began exploring the soft, damp flesh between her legs. What was this exquisite sensation? Her finger dipped inside. She was wet and smooth, like warm honey. Maere squirmed when her hand began to massage her most sensitive place.
Sweet Jesus, she thought sleepily. She continued to rub with one hand, riding the fingers of the other as she began to move up and down. Ah, what was this sweet agony building up inside of her? Just as she thought there would be no release, the sensations crested and carried her away.
Slowly, Maere opened her eyes. She laid still, staring at the ceiling, waiting for her ragged breath to return to normal. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she realized what had happened. How could she have done such a thing? Never mind that she was sleeping while it happened. It happened just the same. Oh, it had to be the devil forcing her into submission! There was no other explanation!
As she lay there sobbing, the fog receded out through the narrow doorway, sliding along the compacted dirt floor with all the grace of a raven in flight.
Chapter Seven
“Greetings. Is there an occupant within this anchorage?”
Maere stirred as the words entered her dreams and awakened her. She groaned with effort as she pushed herself to her feet. After falling asleep on the cold, hard ground, every bone and muscle in her body ached.
“Aye,” she answered, her voice a raspy whisper. “I am here.” She raised a water skin to her lips and quenched her thirst. All the crying she’d done the night before had left her throat raw and tender. She took another sip, splashed some in her hands, then over her face to soothe her sore eyes. She rose and stood near the window. The sun’s rays were just beginning to cast an outline around its black covering.
“Is everything well with you? Should I fetch a sister to help?”
“Of course I am well,” Maere answered, her voice growing stronger. “Why do you ask this?”
“You sound near to death’s door. You may not be seeing things all that clearly.”
Maere bristled. Death’s door, indeed. If he only knew what she’d been going through. Wait a moment. Her mouth fell open as she realized she was talking with a man. And not a very old one, by the sound of him.
She cautiously placed her palms flat on either side of the window and leaned forward ever so slightly. The stone wall was cool and rough beneath her hands and smelled of damp earth. She wrinkled her nose and squinted her eyes as she tried to peek past the edge of the curtain. What kind of ridiculous rule was it anyway that wouldn’t let you look at the person you were speaking with? Maere pulled back, aggravated. She couldn’t see a thing. And she couldn’t very well push the curtain aside. Someone would see her for certain if she did.
