Brotherhood of the Gemstone: Chapter IV: Alette Petal-Queen

The Fairy Chapter

Flames and smoke beat down upon the two of them. Seeking with all the fury of a berserker to choke out the twin souls that lay frozen in cold dread inside of Corin’s home, with the two unable to summon the courage necessary to stand before the phantom-rider. He laughed then, and so scornful was his jubilant snort that Daegan felt as small as a mouse in that moment. She desired naught else but for her father to hurry home, to take her into his arms and to reassure her that all would be well. At the same time that that laugh, was filled with a dark-mirth, it denied all that was good, all that was sunny and all that the good gods had brought into being thousands of eons ago.

There they may have remained, as scared as mice of a tomcat were it not for the sudden bellow from just past the dark one. “BACK! GET BACK, YOU FOUL BEAST!”

The roar might well have burst forth from the lungs of a great lion, so majestic and powerful was the command. The stench of flesh burning and a shriek of pain filled the air far more than the smoke, the ash and flames did. Yet as Daegan and Cormag stared the phantom-rider’s cloak dripped with what appeared to be ale.

“Hoc dea sanctificet et confirmet ale!” Shouted Wulfnoth with such a fury, such majesty that he could well have been mistaken for a king in that moment, or so Daegan thought to herself still dizzy with the shock of how close she had come to death.

“Dae!” Cormag called, in the same instant that the dark-figure turned away from them to face their rescuer. “We have to get out!”

He shook her, wherefore the smith’s daughter regained her wits, and filled with a kind of wild, hysterical rage against this man who had set her father’s home ablaze she leapt unto her feet. Pushing Cormag out of her way, as he attempted to pull her away to freedom she was swifter than he in that moment.

Removing Cosantóir from his scabbard, she heard what appeared to be a great hymn in that moment, one that enchanted her ears and brought to mind the sound of the wind whistling and caressing the peaks of the Highlands Mountains of Caledonia. Of the spray of the sea, as it struck in great waves the promontory of the lordly-isle, and of the greatest of Caled choruses that Cormag loved to listen to and join in on when he thought none others would notice him doing so whilst the temple was in session. This sword-song filled the whole of her being, and it was thence that Daegan knew this thing that she held within her grasp. This great defender, from the tip of its silver-white point down the gold-gleaming blade to the emerald-bejeweled cross-guard to the unicorn head shaped pommel was every bit as alive as she.

Wroth filled her and for the first time in many a weeks, she felt the terrible influence of the Blood-Gem fall as scales from her eyes. This was her home, sang the song, this was her father’s abode and she would defend it.

Daegan did not notice until she felt the sword make contact with the back of the hauberk of the phantom-rider her sword-arm (her right one) move.

Swift as Ziu the war-god upon his great red-steed did she move thence, and swifter did the dark-figure of nightmares shout before he vanished from all mortal-sight within Glasvhail.

For a moment Daegan breathed heavily, heart beating faster than the great wind that tore through the land and more fiercely than she possibly could have struck he who had set her home aflame. Such was the exhilaration and the shock of her own deed that when she realized what it was that she had just done, she felt her head lose all semblance of thoughts. Head-empty and light as one of the Salmon’s tankards were these days, her body a-tremble with a mixture of fear and bewilderment at what she herself had just done.

“Dae, move!” Choked out Cormag, as he brought her attention back to the here and the now, reminding her that she could hardly breathe also, what with all the smoke that had clouded out the air within the house.

Daegan was thrown out in a daze, landing hard upon the ground her grip upon Cosantóir the White’s unicorn-pommel slackened so that it fell a short distance away in the snow. Helped up to her feet by the panting and wheezing Wulfnoth, “Are you alright?”

“A-aye,” She whimpered feeling all of a sudden as cold and small again as a moment ago, when the phantom-rider loomed above her. “What of Cormag?”

“He is still inside.” He answered only to catch her with a great yell as she sought to dive back inside, “Nay! Fool girl, what will you do? See how the entrance is already blocked by flames? Stay here!”

“But Cormag could-”

“Stay here and aid me with throwing some snow upon the entrance. There may still be a chance,” Wulfnoth commanded with another cough as he breathed in, a tad too much smoke so that his whole fat body shook a little as a drum might when struck.

Daegan simply nodded, too afraid to resist and too grateful to give over command of the situation to him as he appeared to know what it was that he was up to. Together they tore strips of snow, from the ground shivering as they did so, though neither truly noticed it in the heat of the moment, as they tossed it onto the flames. This desperate attempt though foolhardy and peculiar in the way that all such hysterical plans tended to be, yielded few results, as the flames appeared to only grow worse and hotter, as if in defiance of their best efforts.

Wulfnoth cursed, Daegan wept and the house burnt. A great cry arose though, from field to field as Glasvhail arose to the danger of fire that cut through the midnight air as a blade through innocent flesh. The alarm was raised, with the knowledge that Corin’s house was aflame; there was nary a single soul who remained in the safety of their own homes.

Countryside folks by nature, they thus had a kind of courage, a vigor all their own that came from living so closely to the savage wild. Fire could be devastating to all, this they knew. Flames though, could hardly dampen their spirits or cow even the youngest of souls, or the eldest of folk. Even the most cowardly, such as Tasgall the fisherman or Drest the farm-hand were quick to answer the call for aid.

“Water! Water! Someone fetch some water!” Salmon shouted as he burst into the fields.

“I have buckets, all fetch some water!” Conn uttered, normally one of those who slept the most heavily, he had been awakened by his frightened wife and had burst forth from his door and down the hill to lend his own aid.

Much as this might have otherwise provided hope for Daegan, it hardly moved her. Her heart in her throat, and her only prayers were not for material things, or the potential danger of the flames spreading, but with Cormag. He was trapped inside, and she was outside, she thought. What a fool she had been, she cursed! So angry with him that she had never told him what she thought and felt, what it was that she had wished to tell him what seemed so long ago!

“Oh gods he shan’t die to-night! No god can be so cruel to allow such a thing!” She whimpered hating the weakness in her own voice, as Wulfnoth held her tightly, quivering with fear himself.

“No lass, I am certain he has made it, take heart!” He urged so fervently she almost believed him. She knew from bitter experience though, with her mother and with Murchadh that fate and life could be that cruel.

As though in defiance of the great flames that arose what appeared to her eyes to be a league above the small house and of the great torrents of water carried over and tossed unto the all-devouring flames by the local villagers a great bellow was heard.

It burst out from the door by which Daegan and Wulfnoth stood, with all the ferocity of a griffon taking flight from atop the mountains of the north, and with all the might of a war-horse. Such was the force of the leap that Cormag undertook that he barreled straight into the plump old cleric, and knocked him over.

Thrown aside if accidentally so, Daegan was fortunate in that she succeeded in maintaining her balance, where Wulfnoth grunted. Wrapped up in a cloth, that he swiftly cast aside, Cormag held against his chest a roll of cloth, with which he rolled about in the snow with. Etched onto his face was an expression of stunned relief, the moment he at last halted in this panicked motion.

“Cormag!” Daegan cried out as she threw herself against him, knocking him over and the wind from his unprepared lungs, as he blinked in surprise.

So utter and complete was her relief that she very near kissed him then, with the instinct multiplying a thousand-folds the moment she noticed the bundle of cloth in his arms; it was her silk-dress, given to her by Kenna.

Just behind him a dozen of the men stomped on the large fur-drape that Corin had opted to sleep under days ago, when Wulfnoth first came hither to Glasvhail. With Daegan having left it bundled up in a corner of the main-room of the house, too indolent to think to put it away (she had left everything at her father’s departure as it was, as had Wulfnoth who was hardly any better than her).

“What has happened?” Indulf shouted loudly as he appeared from just behind Salmon.

“What difference does it make, lad? We must put this fire out!” Salmon roared as he forced a bucket into his hands, and urged him to toss its contents against the enflamed house.

For some time, the locals worked to put an end to the flames, all of them filled with shock and courage as they worked together. Wulfnoth though, wearily proclaimed that he would escort Cormag and Daegan to the house of the seamstress where the three of them would stay.

“They have undergone a great shock, one not easily overcome,” He proclaimed to all present, many of whom, who proceeded to eye the blue-eyed youth suspiciously still or in other cases such as Ida, gazed upon him with pity.

“Trygve, go fetch some stew from home, the poor dears must be so hungry after this travesty!” She called out, ever the mother and ever the she-bear of Glasvhail, swift to pick up new cubs regardless if they were hers or not.

Trygve hurried away, to do as told his face twisted with fatigue as he dropped the bucket he had been given by Freygil.

Following after Cormag, though not before Indulf called out to her to hold up for her the sheathed sword Cosantóir to her, “Daegan you appear to have forgotten one of your father’s blades.” He gazed upon her with a shred of pity as he placed it into her arms, “Sadly it appears to be the last of his work present herein Glasvhail to have survived the flames.”

Once inside Kenna’s home, Daegan was to take up the family matriarch’s room at Cormag’s insistence, whereas Wulfnoth was to be given his own room. As to the youth himself, he was to rest in the shop itself, under a bundle of furs and by the chimney, in which he lit a small fire. The last thought Daegan when she fell asleep bundled up in Kenna’s warm bed, was to thank heavens for Wulfnoth and Cormag’s timely actions. Her last sight being her father’s sword leaning against the wall by the said bed, which along with a single table and several rolls of wool to one side was all there was in the sparse room.

*****

The next day was to see a great many of the villagers too weary at first to stoke their anger against Cormag. Wearied and distressed by the loss of the only forge in the locality though, by high-noon there were several of them that were about as frantic as they were the night Inga passed. This though, was hardly the first thought that came into Daegan’s mind whence she arose for the day. Her only thought was to determine what she should do now. As things stood, she had lost all semblance of wealth or any means to survive as the family forge had gone up in flames. Her father would likely be heartbroken as it would take him some time to rebuild what they had, with all the wealth he was to gain in Sgain likely to be lost upon his return.

Lost in her own brooding thoughts, her chin against her chest as she stumbled down the stairs her father’s sword in one hand, since she felt it needed to be close at hand at all times. It was strange, because days prior she had wondered why her father had not brought it with him, and had avoided it and the blood-gem. Yet she had the sense that it was in part thanks to it that she had slept so well.

Dressed in the same dress as the previous day, since Cormag had only succeeded in saving her one silk dress (which she decided to leave on the table, in a bundle in Kenna’s room), she arrived just as the door closed with a quit ‘clack’. Stumbling upon Wulfnoth in the midst of cutting some cheese for her, and an onion, she cleared her voice, this surprised him.

“By the great bones of the Paragon Muireall, what are ye lass, a cat to sneak upon me so?” The druid demanded sharply, of the still only half awake girl.

“Apologies, where is Cormag?” She said without the slightest trace of guilt in her voice.

“He left, to go speak with Trygve and Indulf, his friends.”

“I see, he ought to have waited for me,” She complained loudly.

At this remark Wulfnoth gave her a look full of pity before he turned away to pick up her breakfast and place it onto a plate. Insisting that she eat, he would not take a single bite himself until such a time that she had finished at least her hunk of cheese. This she did primly, if somewhat reluctantly given her obstinate nature, and desire to speak with Cormag. A part of her having already opined to leave for Sgain to inform her father of what had taken place yesterday, another part of her had the irrational notion that mayhap this could simply accelerate her hopes to marry Cormag and she could remain in his home forever. This thought was banished as swiftly as it came into her spirit, for she knew it to be a childish hope.

The question of what she could do until the return of Kenna, had apparently chief-most place in Wulfnoth’s thoughts, who spoke only after he himself had eaten. Her father’s sword was propped up against the wall next to her, where every few seconds the cleric’s dark eyes hovered over it with a thoughtful expression climbing up onto his face when he did so. The two of them quiet for some time, so that it appeared to her ears that his voice echoed a little in the nigh on empty house. “Daegan, it is far from my place to speak out on such matters, however if you are not entirely daft as Wiglaf or young Cormag can tend to be, I had thought it best if you stayed here until the lady Kenna’s return.”

Startled that he had been thinking much the same as she, “You think so? I had thought you would prefer that I stay in the temple.”

“I am not certain that Conn can be the wisest of men nor am I blind to how deep the vicissitudes between women can run to.” He informed her with a weak grin that made his moustache move as the wings of a thrush. “I know not all the reasons for why Helga and her sister are not over-fond of you, however I have a good idea as to why, after your and Cormag’s comportment the night prior.”

Daegan could feel her face reddening, and she might well have agreed, when a thought came into her mind. One that would not allow itself to be chased away, as she grappled with the temptation of choosing the security of Kenna’s home over her own innate intuition, “You speak as though you intend to go somewhere far, far away.”

The flash of surprise that flew over his face before he stumbled for words in the next few seconds told her far more, than what he had wished to.

Egged on by her suspicions, the ‘She-Paladin of Glasvhail’ went on to ask him, “Where is it you intend to leave for? Sgain?”

“I- er, well no though I must-” He stuttered uneasily, his ordinarily smooth manner utterly forgotten as he revealed himself to be an easily bewildered man, and something of a poor liar she realized.

Just as she felt certain that he was on the verge of revealing to her the whole of the truth, of what he had intended to do in response to the attack by the phantom-rider, the door burst open. In strode Ida who took in the sight of the quailing druid and the red-haired lass on her feet index finger pointed in his face in a single glance. The first response from the matronly, blonde-haired woman was to speak out against the blacksmith’s daughter. “Now I hope you are not bullying poor old Wulfnoth, Daegan!”

“Of course not,” Daegan scoffed at once, with a warning glance to the old man who sighed in defeat, with a grimace on his face.

“What brings you here, milady?”  The druid wondered politely, keen to change the subject.

It was now that Ida took up a very somber appearance, anxiously glancing about the small house with visible worry. A bright, cheery woman with a skill for making friends with almost everyone, whilst at the same time disapproving of nigh on all that they did, she was rarely if ever truly upset. Unflappable by nature, for her to show any kind of hint of nervousness was distressing to say the least, and positively alarmed Corin’s only child. “I- well, I had hoped to see Cormag here, has he simply gone upstairs to his chambers for a moment?”

“No, lass he left to go find his friends Indulf and Trygve, to consult on the matter of what happened yesterday, would you like me to transmit a message to him on your behalf?” Wulfnoth offered genially.

At this the flaxen-haired matron chewed on her lower lip, grey-eyes round with anxiousness as she visibly warred with herself over the importance of what she wished to tell Cormag. At last she asked if distractedly, “Do you know where the lads left for?” Her question was answered in the negative, so that she at last conceded if reluctantly so. “It happens- or it may happen that there are those who live near here-”

“Ida speak sense already, what is it that everyone has in mind?” Daegan interrupted sharply, exasperated by her muddling about.

“Now be careful how you speak to me lass,” Ida warned with equal firmness, only relenting when the younger woman subsided into fuming silence. Pleased by this the stormy-eyed wife of Freygil at last concluded after some prompting from Wulfnoth. “It appears that there are those, who blame Cormag and wish him gone.”

“What? How could they wish him gone? He has done nothing wrong!” Objected Daegan at once, almost trembling with fury at the thought of the injustice being discussed somewhere, in the village. “Tell me where they are meeting, and I shall-”

“You will do what little girl?” Wulfnoth snapped impatiently, “Charge wither they have hidden themselves, to give them a tongue-lashing? To run them through with your father’s untainted sword? And what will all this accomplish, other than to taint the purity of Cosantóir and your own soul?”

The vehemence in his voice made her squirm, so that it was now no longer the smith’s daughter who appeared to loom over the druid but the reverse. Though he did not rise to his feet, and preferred to remain seated where he was, the effect his words had on her were visible to behold. Crumbling inwardly the ‘She-Paladin’ tucked her chin against her chest only to thrust it out in defiance a moment later, as her resolve rebuilt itself. She well-knew that there was little that she could accomplish by violence, in fact the thought had never occurred to her. All that had entered into her spirit was the sudden, swift desire to make clear her thoughts on this gross betrayal to her greatest friend.

“He is right lass,” Ida added laying a sorry-hand upon her shoulder.

“Then what do you recommend that we do? Simply hide, whilst- now that I think on it, who is at this meeting?”

At this question Ida squirmed once more, with Wulfnoth moved by her plight hurrying to her defence, “There is no reason to answer this question, lass.”

“Nay, nay it is a good and worthy question; Freygil is there, Tavish, Drest and also Ualan.” She revealed, the names mentioned included the woman’s own husband, Conn’s good-son, one of the most notable local fishermen and of course, Torquill the tavern-keeper. “Alongside fifteen others, I discovered their meeting quite by accident, when I left to go enjoy a touch of ale after the fright of last-night.”

Blabbering on, she let at last slip if indirectly so knowledge of where to find the conspiracy against Cormag. It had to be, Daegan guessed in Torquill’s tavern, which almost once again made up her mind to go hunt down the men in question to give them a piece of her mind.

She was saved from another quarrel, by the sudden return of Cormag, who opened the door only to gape a little at the sight of Ida there. Dressed in a dark grey tunic of rough wool with hose the same colour and made of the same material covering his legs, he was accompanied by his two favourite friends. Both of whom were dressed in dark tunics, and hoses, though Trygve’s was slightly greener than the black of Indulf all of them wore about their shoulders long traveling cloaks. Their clothes was evidently chosen to aid in the battle against the cold of winter, not that any of the trio appeared at all prepared for the sight of Freygil’s beloved wife of more than twenty-five years. They all froze where they stood, just as she did at the sight of her sons dressed for travel. “Aunt Ida why are you here?”

“I have come to warn you, dear boy!” Ida exclaimed before she promptly closed the door behind him whereupon she told him with great solemnity of how he had been declared a criminal by most of the village.

At first Cormag listened with mute shock, but then his face tore itself up into an expression of utter anguish and misery. Such was the force of his grief at the rejection by his neighbours that he might well have wept, had others not been present therewith him. Proud in his own way, he would never break into tears in front of others, no matter how terrible his pain, how deeply the words and actions of others stabbed through his very soul. At the sight of his sorrow, Daegan wished to do nothing more than to take him up, in her arms and comfort him.

It was her feminine instincts, feelings that she had never been one to repress though some such as Indulf or Trygve might well have been surprised. As contrary to what they might claim, she took pride in her femaleness especially, when it pertained to Cormag. It was just that as a right and proper Caled woman, she had her own pride.

“What will you do?” She inquired worriedly, with a glance of this sort shot from the corner of her eye to Ida, who appeared to share her apprehension.

“I’faith, I do not know,” He confessed a hint of stunned pain still in his voice, before he ran a hand over his face. “I suppose, it has simply decided the matter for me.”

Bewildered by these words, Daegan and Ida could only gape at him; the latter was the first to ask what lay in both of their minds. “What do you mean by ‘decided the matter’? You can’t be thinking of leaving Glasvhail!”

“Aye, it is precisely what he has in mind,” Wulfnoth affirmed for the hesitant Cormag when he failed to immediately answer properly.

“But why?” This time it was Daegan who asked this question, only to explode a little in a burst of fury, “Are you a complete fool Cormag?”

At this question, pain flashed through his expressive blue eyes before it was replaced by a cold fury, the likes of which she had seen but a handful of times. “Fool? No, and I cannot believe you could say such a thing to me Dae, especially given how well you know me! It is one thing for mother or the Salmon to utter such a thing, but for you it is unimaginable.”

“But where will you go? You have no great skill for survival without others!” Daegan pointed out sharply, forgetting for a moment that he knew every bit about hunting, trapping, fishing and cooking as she did thanks as much to her father, as his mother.

“Calm yourselves, the both of you!” Wulfnoth bellowed only to add somewhat more weakly when they both turned furtive, angry gazes upon him, “Please?” This they did only out of respect for the innate sweetness that lay within the druid, who was very keen to move the conversation away from name-calling and needless insults. “Ida has lent us a great service, by giving us this warning, but it changes little; we must still depart soon. The phantom-rider will return, especially now that he suspects us of having some sort of link to whatever it is that he longs for.”

“Wait, the phantom-rider? So it is true?” Ida gasped disbelief in her eyes, her hand coming up to cover her mouth in horror.

“Aye, he is no mere superstition, though I had thought it so until yesterday, as I had no inkling that such things existed.” Wulfnoth confessed his dark-grey brows knitting together in consternation and pensive thought. “If these phantoms from legend and myth, of a bygone age do indeed exist what else exists? There is a great deal more at play here, than any of us are possibly aware of, or so I believe.”

“Does that not give us even more cause to stand and fight these things?” This time it was Daegan who thundered out this response, as though she were some sort of great warrior-king preparing his legions for war.

“Be careful with what you wish for lass, as war is too often in my experience initiated and far less lightly restrained once the arrow has been released so to speak.” The druid counselled sternly, he was interrupted by Trygve.

“Aye, but do we not have a duty to those who have passed to this creature of the night, and to those it has threatened to attempt to fight it?”

“What are you on about? I feel as though I have only been told half, of what has transpired and as though you all stand on the cusp, of some great decision.” Ida cried out her eyes going to her sons, who exchanged a sheepish look, neither of them particularly keen to inform her of whatever it was that, they had decided upon.

Cormag and the rest of the boys squirmed helplessly, before he glanced to either of them and with an exchange of nods he hurried over to the kitchen, which was attached to the shop. Thereon he extricated from a darkened corner, just a few meters from both of the two who had slept in his home in the two other rooms. His eyes slightly darkened by little circles beneath his eyes, he removed from within the jug the small white-locket that had been entrusted to him, by his father.

“This is the Blood-Gem of Aganippe,” He revealed to the two elders in the room, with a voice full of significance. The name meant naught to Ida who was visibly confused, however Wulfnoth’s breath hitched a little at the mention of the name. He did the symbol of the flower, placing his right hand over his brow only to lower it then over his left-shoulder then lowered it, then over his right-shoulder and lowered his hand very overtly. A sorry expression on his face, Cormag went on at some length. “According to Wiglaf, this is a cursed gemstone that has existed for nigh on two millennia, with the locket that contains the crimson-gem having been lost for a time, before father discovered it.”

“What? What are you talking about? How could Murchadh, have discovered such a thing?” Ida gasped unable to believe her ears.

At this response, the whole of those already in the know about the Blood-Gem, of the ancient Sorcerer-King exchanged a nervous series of glances. Each one of them full of concern and unsure if they should continue to maintain the secret that they had been sworn to by Corin and Wiglaf, only Cormag appeared confident in his decision.

This image was somewhat dispelled when he swallowed audibly a moment later, his gaze though did not tremble as he admitted. “Father was not slain in that storm, but swept away to the misty-isle, it was thereon that he was enslaved before he was seized by some dark figure and stole this gem from that man.”

Though she had already heard this tale before this moment, Daegan could not help but shiver. Her emerald gaze lowered in momentary defeat, her teeth sinking into her lower lip in frustration at her own sense of helplessness.

Ida wrung her hands, “But how do you know all this? Does Kenna know, Cormag?”

“No,” He admitted with visible regret, “We did not tell her, because father did not wish her to know. He- he was hardly himself when he passed.”

“Oh how terrible!”

“Wait, your father discovered this gemstone only to perish? Did he say anything about those dark-riders?” Wulfnoth queried flabbergasted while he all but bounced upon the chair he had taken up whilst eating, with the wood of the legs of the chair creaking ominously.

None took this warning to heart, so intent were they upon the white-locket and the chain it dangled upon, with Trygve eyeing it anxious, Indulf with heated distrust and Cormag avoided looking directly at it. For her own part, Daegan felt the old revulsion and attraction towards the gemstone warring for dominance inside of her, she might well have liked to turn away completely from it but she could not bring herself to look away from it.

Now that she looked more closely at it, it was truly a marvel to behold. A fine work of art, it shone in the light of the suns and the small fire in the shop’s chimney, it amazed her then how she could ever have felt repulsed by it. A moment later, she noticed the glint of crimson shining through a crack in the white locket, for some reason she felt it best left unsaid. It might only alarm them, she told herself.

“Only that he had to investigate them and the gem,” Cormag said answering the druid’s question, with the old man hmming and rocking back and forth, to his chair’s vibrant displeasure as it creaked even more audibly than before.

“It appears to me that the three of you, have already made up your minds on the matter of this horrid gem.” Wulfnoth grumbled with a frown in the direction of all three boys, at last making mention of the fact that they were all dressed for travel. The three of them exchanged a worried glance, one that did not go unnoticed by the cleric. “Drat it all! I suppose that if I were to expect any of you three to await my return, from say Sgain or Auldchester where there are certainly records of some sort about these riders or this gem, I would but return to find each of you missing!”

The accusation hidden behind his words won him an even more guilty reaction from each of them, as they hung their heads and lowered their gazes to stare at their feet. Only Indulf appeared somewhat petulant, pouting and grinding his teeth as he with his curly blonde hair and tall figure, appeared all of a sudden the very image of his father and mother all at once. He had his father’s height and muscular build, though and dark-eyes and his mother’s obstinacy.

He said naught of what he thought, not that there was any need of it Daegan mused with a great deal of approval. Inga would have without a doubt cheered and boasted, of the manly nature of her fiancé. At once, her own mood soured into one of utter grief and pain, as she thought of her friend’s passing and the hole, left she had left behind.

“I really shan’t understand the youths of to-day!” Wulfnoth complained plaintively, as he shook his head tugging at his moustache as though he were trying to tear it off. He suddenly reminded the red-haired girl of an over-sized badger with a moustache in a monk’s habit, so ridiculous did he appear to her eyes then. “Do ye think this is some sort of game or trading-trip down the hill or past the Dyrkwoods over into Dyrranthrol to trade some wool or fish?”

“We understand your point brother, yet we are prepared to do what is necessary for those we loved.” Indulf said stoutly, eyes filled with a masculine thunder that no storm could have outmatched so fierce did he gaze upon him. “To you, Murchadh and Inga were liable to be naught but names, yet to us they were kith and kin. Or in my situation, a lover as Inga was far more than kith or kin.”

His voice at last broke, as he choked down a sob that drew a supportive gesture from his mother, who began to stroke his back with a look full of pity in her kindly eyes. It was very clear that if she could have eased her son’s plight or brought back to life, the girl he had loved so passionately, she might well have given over her own life or soul in exchange.

It also did not escape Daegan’s gaze that Cormag appeared rather a little envious of this demonstration of motherly love even as he extended a sympathetic squeeze of his friend’s arm. A gesture that drew a grateful glance from Indulf, who allowed himself a moment to regain his composure as he squeezed his mother’s hand in a gesture he had only ever used for his mother and Inga.

“You three are quite the group, I daresay you have taken the matter out of my hands and then there is the matter of that there conspiracy against you and the fact that this shadow-rider desires the gem.” The cleric groaned rocking back in forth as always, and rubbing his hands together in an anxious gesture. “Very well, if you intend to leave after this rider, I shall accompany you in the pursuit of him. The road ahead shall be so treacherous, so vile that I have no doubt that we will likely require more than one luncheon packed for the road.”

“We are not afraid and have rarely spoken since last night of aught else but the journey ahead,” Cormag revealed with the same resolution that his friend had demonstrated a moment before.

“There is a good and manly speech, let us hope you can keep up that strong spirit,” Wulfnoth said earnestly, his chair let slip a miserable sigh beneath him.

“Wait, you two intend to accompany Cormag?” Ida asked distressed, as the realisation of what her sons planned to do suddenly struck, her between the eyes.

For a moment Daegan feared she might swoon, a reaction she herself had tremendous difficulty in fending off at the thought of the three of them venturing wither danger lay, and evil roamed freely. The thought that they might perish haunted her, with her instinctive fear for the safety of Trygve and Indulf surprising her. Rarely had they ever uttered any remark not in mockery of her, and yet they had always been all but siblings to her, doting upon her, playing with her in their childhood and otherwise defending her when some such as Helga complained at length about her. This along with the notion of life in Glasvhail without Cormag appeared completely devoid of all worth and meaning. The more she considered the future days that yawned ahead of her, wherein she would not awaken in the morn’ to discover him down the village from her, eager to race her to the oak, or to weave crookedly in comparison to her smooth needlework and otherwise playing at word-games with her.

She could have been ill at this mere thought, and knew at once that she could not endure it, nor would she tolerate it alone. Upon her feet in an instant, a great song torn from her lips she let slip forth a song that she recalled her father once singing to her about the Paladin Norbert of Norddard. A great warrior and hero who fought off a dragon once upon a time, and whom had fought for decades in the service of the great Neustrian Emperor Aemiliemagne (or Aymon the Great).

“Norbert was the most loyal knight,

All the minstrels sing of his might,

Paladin was he and the most right,

Son of valorous Zackarie Ziusson friend of the King,

His sword was sharp and his laugh did loudly ring,

Thus did all love him, but none more than Saraï,

To whom he exchanged his arm-ring,

Ere the bone of Norençia stole her away,

The seas were wide, the fields green,

The suns shone bright and red,

O’er the hills the scarlet wyrm was seen,

Above the glens and the trees he fled,

All trembled at his bellow and did keen,

Norbert was waiting in the north,

The light of the suns was in his eyes,

His hauberk black as a storm,

There Zackarie came from forests warm,

Together they journey’d under trees,

And where the drake-river swarm,

They came alone the father grieving,

He gazed up at the heavens seas,

Zackarie by his love could not but be torn,

His heart was dark with foreboding,

Determination harden’d the son’s weary spirit,

That duty doom’d him to death,

This he knew, he hasten’d ere the land did erupt,

Sword grasp’d Norbert swung its full-length,

The steel glisten’d and hew’d,

Light danced along its edge,

Both men stood upon the mountains edge,

Norbert saw there the wyrm oft-fly,

Scarlet rubies scales glimmer’d as the suns,

Emerald leaves fell from on high,

Zackarie’s blade blue as cerulean gems,

Light glimmer’d along the sky,

Now burnt lay the fields quavering,

One by one the red droplets did the earth dye,

Booming flames from Zomok did spew,

Hollow leaves fell as rain,

Norbert bellow’d thrice never flinching,

Lo! He swung his blade that cut a claw in twain,

His helm shone from afar in spite of rain,

O! How the maid and their son wept!

To see him fell’d by the wyrm’s claw,

Was truly the very worse of sorrows!

Long would wee Zias grieve, and let tears fall as rain,

Saraï mourn’d and Zackarie strove in vain,

This the minstrels sing with much pain,

Into shadow fell Norbert’s flame,

Short was Zomok’s triumph for he was made lame,

For in both hands Zackarie Ziusson swung star-shining blades,

This last he did ere his left-hand was unmade,

Thus did death to him dance near,

Still he throve!

Lo! Did Zias avenge his father,

His blade was most true,

This to the delight of his mother,

Thus did Zomok receive his due,

Valour loving Norbert thusly fell,

And to the regret of all was he reduced in that dell,

On the peak of Roumont shine the stars,

Long was the homeward journey,

O’er the mountains and through the valleys,

Lo! They rang the horn for the Paladin most worthy,

And so all were fill’d with agony,

Long were the days that follow’d,

For the king’s squire was most dear,

And all were to sing of his courage with many more than one tear!”

At the conclusion of this great song which she sang in the Gallian tongue, and which for this reason floated through the air without the majority of those present understanding a lick of what it was that she had spoke of. Only Cormag who had been taught some Gallian by Corin, and Wulfnoth understood what it was that she had chanted in response to the courage of the boys.

“Amazing,” Ida gasped moved by the song though she understood nothing of it.

“Aye, you sing Norbert’s shortened song well lass,” Wulfnoth praised warmly, leaning back a little in his chair, his badger-like appearance once more pronounced. “It is kind of you to encourage the lads upon their departure.”

“Oh it is not simple encouragement brother, but my oath to them! For where Cormag wanders, I shall follow!” Daegan swore then, with all the heat and passion of a true Caled-woman to the amazement and shock of all assembled.

“Never!” Cormag objected at once, his voice alarmed.

“Think a little, fool-girl!” Indulf added.

“I expected no less from the ‘She-Paladin’,” Trygve grunted beneath his breath.

“Trygve! Quiet!”

“But ma!”

“No buts you fool,” Ida growled once more, before she turned once more to confront the red-haired girl, “Think a little Daegan, this quest is to be a terrible one and could be horribly dangerous and unsettling for all involved!”

“Aye, I may have the flesh of a woman, but I have all the stomach and spirit of a man,” Daegan countered immediately, “As I said where Cormag goes, I follow.”

“Never!” He repeated once more.

“You never let me do as I please,” She accused hurt by his refusal, feeling as though he had rejected her once more.

“When have I ever denied you anything, Dae?”

“Countless times!”

“Name them!” Cormag challenged with equal mounting fury to her own, as swept up by his own rectitude as she.

“Enough the both of you,” Ida complained.

“Why do you take their side, when your sons intend to also set out for certain doom?” Complained the red-faced smith’s daughter, full of fury and prepared to squabble with each and every one of them, until she had her own way.

“I take no sides, nor have I given my permission to my sons to leave, for which I would most heartily remind them that they require it.” This last part was added sternly, the moment Ida caught sight of the mutinous gleam that entered Indulf’s eyes. Though they were but quarter-northern in blood, there was in that moment very little else that they appeared to possess in appearance, in that moment. “I would prefer that the two of you, do not go as I refuse to bury any of my children, should this journey be truly as perilous as what brother Wulfnoth says.” At this time Ida, turned now to the man in question who froze upon his chair, “This is the reason for why he will agree with me that the wisest course of action, may in fact be to entrust the gemstone to him and let him sort it out alongside old Wiglaf.”

“What never! I will never do any such thing!” Wulfnoth shouted at once, to the surprise of all present herewith him, “I cannot- no I simply must never handle that gemstone, for it is the work of a heathen, of evil itself. For this simple reason, and given the many tales of how it has corrupted men, even clerics which the abbot who raised me passed down to me, in my youth, I dare not! I dare not lady Ida!”

“You would in place of doing your manly duty, place it upon the shoulders of those younger than yourself?” Now the rare of the matron began to mix with the indignation of a she-bear fearful for her sons.

“Well it is one thing for Cormag to go, or even Daegan but my sons-”

“Ma, we are leaving, we shan’t leave Cormag and brother Wulfnoth to pursue this quest without any assistance.” Trygve now spoke up, with a small smile. “Besides, Indulf swore to avenge Inga; you would not begrudge him this last duty, especially as it might be his last chance for closure.”

Only Daegan remembered in that moment, how Trygve had dismissed her offer of assistance, and she promised herself that she would not forget it. Haughty once more, she thereafter would strive she told herself to remind him, of how much fiercer she was than he.

At these words Ida succumbed reluctantly, quiet tears leaking from her eyes. Wulfnoth might have offered her comforting words however; it was in that instant that a great expletive escaped his lips as his chair at last gave out with a thunderous crash.

*****

It took little time for the men to prepare themselves, and when they did, their cloaks about their shoulders still, lunch packed in small pouches that they intended to carry in hand with traveling-staves in their own hands. They were the very image of courage itself, so that Ida was now almost convinced that they might truly accomplish something wondrous. She also ordered them to one day return and to recall their duty to her, their mother and to the rest of their kinsmen. Daegan for her part was to grab her own cloak, fasten it about her shoulders in a hurry (she took one of Kenna’s which she at once noticed, was a little small on her own frame) and grabbing the last staff hurried after them before they could all leave the house.

Cormag for his own part let out a groan at the sight of her, “No Dae you are not coming along.”

“Mayhap, but I have something that you will have need of.” She countered having thought about it all the way up and down the stairs, and this time she was prepared for his refusal.

Eyeing her warily, he asked her from between his tightly clenched teeth, “What is that?”

“Cosantóir,” She reminded him, as she took up the sword and girded it, with a proud smile, thinking she must have appeared regal in that moment with the dark-scabbard upon her waist and the shimmering green gems, and white pommel. A second later the sword that was not properly girded to her girdle fell with a small clank to the ground, to her utter frustration. “I’faith!”

“See, how magnificent a figure she cuts? I truly feel safe with her by my side,” Trygve muttered with apparent sarcasm, yet it brightened her mood as she thought him as always sincere.

“Truly? Well, wait until you see it properly girded,” She told him haughtily with a hint of warmth beneath her voice.

He rolled his eyes alongside Indulf, who grumbled beneath his breath, “I do think it might be better, to confront those phantom-riders empty-handed.”

“Do not speak so hastily, Indulf,” Wulfnoth countered still rubbing his rump, as he came to the assistance of the lass. “She is correct in that the only thing that appeared to harm the shadow-rider other than the light of the gods was the sword Cosantóir.”

Pleased by this support on his part, for her along with his assistance with properly girding now the sword properly and aiding her in tightening the sash, so that it could better maintain the weight of the sword.

Once satisfied he moved away, to encourage the trio of boys out the door, “Out you three, we have a long quest and it must begin now… lest we never depart.”

Sullen, Cormag assented whereupon he followed the sons of Ida out the door, with the two older boys’ mother following after them with a worried expression on her face.

It was thence that the question of how she would manage the local villagers, who wished to banish Cormag at last entered into Indulf’s spirit, as he turned to face her. “Mother, what will you say to father and the rest who come to banish Cormag?”

“You leave that to me, dear,” She said tearfully still heartbroken at his departure, “You worry about yourself and your brother.”

At this he nodded dutifully, with his younger brother promising her at once, “Fear not ma, I shall ensure that Indulf returns safe and sound, along with Cormag and Daegan!”

“You worry also about yourself please!”

“Hurry the lot of you, less we shall never depart!” Daegan called impatiently, though she did not keep herself from sharing a swift hug with Ida before she hurried after Wulfnoth and the rest of them.

“Turan keep you,” Ida whispered fervently into each of their ears as she hugged them close to her, before she let them all go, this included the sullen Cormag, the morose Indulf and fiery Daegan. In the case of the druid she simply said so gently without laying a hand upon him, it was thereupon that he pressed his thumb a few centimeters from her temple and performed the symbol of the flower for her. Pleased by this, she smiled brilliantly at him, asking as she did, “Will you protect them?”

“With all that I have in me, lass,” Wulfnoth promised earnestly.

They walked as far as the Dyrkwoods, where they came to a halt on Wulfnoth’s orders. It was there that taking notice of the apprehension of his friends, he asked of them with an exasperated expression upon his face. “Why the reticence, the swiftest route south lies through these woods.”

“This is the Dyrkwoods,” Trygve informed him fearfully, being one of those who had never much liked the woods.

“What of it?” Asked the druid ignorantly, unfamiliar with the local fairy-stories and the dread with which the people of Glasvhail felt in regards to these very woods.

“It is said that a man by the name of Ciaran, once rejected a fairy-queen who slew him for spurning her and that the spot where he fell was where a great oak grew- that one to be exact.” He pointed to the tree in question, which was to the right of them, “Due to the fairy-magic imbued inside of the dagger she stabbed him with.”

“What nonsense,” Wulfnoth exclaimed before he was shushed by all of them, anxious as they were to avoid being noticed by those departing from the tavern that was within sight of where they stood now. “How can you believe such nonsense? Does no one approach this forest?”

“I do,” Cormag said stoutly, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Because you’re more fool than man,” Trygve grumbled beneath his breath.

“Hardly, the oak of Ciaran has never appeared to me to be full of evil,” The youngest of the lads said. “Quite to the contrary, it always appeared peaceful to me.”

“And to myself as well, some of us girls once danced about the tree singing,” Daegan added keenly, sucking in a breath to begin singing she was halted from doing so by the druid.

“Careful lass, we must tread lightly and there may be another time for song,” Wulfnoth reminded her gently, before he appeared to recall something of some distinct importance. “Ah yes, who has the gemstone now that I think of it?”

“I have it,” Cormag answered startled, pulling the locket from where it was hidden by his tunic.

Staring at it for a long time, Wulfnoth appeared to be drawn in by the sight of it, just as Daegan always felt herself to be. With a shudder, the druid tore his gaze away from it forcefully, telling him as he did so, “Hand it to another- Trygve you are to take it up.”

“Me? But why?”

“Because, we will need to move it between each of us, I am not familiar with the heretical stone however I do know that I can already feel drawn to it. Cormag seems to be of a mightier mind than even myself, therefore we shall have need of it further along the road we are bound for.” The wise old man’s moustache twitched and waved up and down.

Taking his words to heart, there was an instant whence Cormag appeared reluctant to give over the Blood-Gem. Daegan for her own part eyed the gem as it switched hands, shuddering now herself just as Indulf and the druid did. It took all that she had to tear away her gaze, just as the gem was at last seized by Trygve who went to put it about his neck wherefore he was stopped by Indulf.

“Wait! Trygve, maybe it ought to be put in your spare satchel, where you keep your flint,” Recommended his elder brother worry in his voice.

“Stout counsel as always, I can see that you are a reliable sort Indulf, in spite of that there righteous fury I oft see in your eyes,” Wulfnoth approved at once as he waved for them to follow him.

Indulf reddened, his brother snickered as Cormag gave a great striking clap to the blonder of the two sons of Ida’s back. This gesture drew a short-lived smile from Kenna’s pupil, who followed if reluctantly thither into the Dyrkwoods. Still angry with one another Daegan and Cormag did not walk side to side, preferring in his case to walk by the druid’s left-side, whereas she favored walking between him and the two brothers.

Though she had long been fond of the great oak of Ciaran, for the songs and dances that had been carried about it in her youth, and the good times she had passed near it with Cormag. Daegan could not repress a certain shiver at the memory of all the horrid tales, Ida and Kenna had once told her, when she was still little more than five seasons.

“You must never enter the woods, for within its foliage lives terrible fairies and beasts who predate our own age of men and for whom the flesh of girls and boys, is the sweetest of meals.” Ida had warned many of the girls and some boys, a decade prior after she had caught them in the midst of singing the ‘fairy-song’ as they had often termed it.

It was a song that Murchadh had passed down to them, and that he had claimed that Olith loved to sing wherever she went, in particular when it was just her and Corin by Ciaran’s oak. The song was one that Daegan had always loved, one that she had occasionally heard Cormag singing also. Inga had likewise loved it, and had in their youth pulled Indulf over to sing by the tree. The memory of which brought tears to her eyes, if only she told herself as she walked through the dark-woods, Inga had lived. She had had her whole life ahead of her!

The woods which had long appeared dark from the outside, especially to those to the north of it, however now that she was walking through the woods for the first time in her life Daegan could not help but notice just how much grimmer the forest was from inside of it. The trees that she had never truly paid much mind to, in her childhood and even in the days before their departure from Glasvhail, appeared all of a sudden to her eyes, to be twisting and twining all about her. A great lover of trees, Daegan had never thought consciously of how frightful, they could be. The great oak was grey with a great deal of warmth to it that had always drawn her to it and Cormag also. These trees though were of a dark-green colour that appeared more foul, more darkened than even the phantom-rider had appeared the night prior.

‘I shan’t believe it has only been a single night ago,’ Daegan mused miserably to herself, with a shake of her head.

Not a sound was heard for several hours, with Cormag’s head turned away from Wulfnoth, evidently losing himself in his own thoughts, once their whispered conversation came to an end. Trygve fidgeted and scratched at his left arm nervously as his brother kept his gaze firmly on either side of them. Following his example, as she fell back between him and his brother, the two of them did not exchange a single word as they strained their gazes and glanced from side to side.

In time Wulfnoth fussed at his pack which he had brought with him from Carreyrn, to pull out of it several slices of cheese they had stuffed into it, just before they had left Kenna’s home behind them. Passing the hunks to each of them, not a single one of them refusing as they chewed on the cheese hungrily if anxiously, the only one who attacked his meal with relish being the druid himself.

“I always feel better, after I eat,” He said in a conspiratorial voice. It was evident that the silence had made him nervous also, and that he wished for some sort of noise.

“Aye,” Indulf agreed quietly, but did not say anymore.

A gusty sigh was torn from the plump cleric’s chest as he sagged enormously in disappointment. Observing this with her mouth full of cheese, Daegan could barely choke it down as she continued to also glance about them. Their small break over, the lot of them continued onwards as though naught had changed.

Annoyed, Wulfnoth in time complained, “For the love of all the gods, what sort of trees are these to block out the twin-suns?”

When all they did was shrug, without any enthusiasm with it being Cormag who replied his own mouth half-full with the last bit of his hunk of cheese, “Fairy-woods.”

“Then why was it named ‘Dyrkwoods’?”

“Because, Ciaran the warrior was slain by a fairy’s dirk.” Answered the blue-eyed youth with another shrug of his shoulders, only to ponder, “I wonder if the dirk was crafted from iron or steel.”

“Hmmm,” Wulfnoth murmured tugging as always at his moustache, “A question for any other man, save myself, for I care not which it was only that it be kept away from me.”

“Do you not have the protection of the gods?” Trygve asked peevishly.

“Do be quiet Trygve,” Daegan snapped.

He opened his mouth to argue back, the Brittian was swifter though, “Aye but it is no true protection from iron and steel, only against evil.”

“How is that different?” Cormag wondered confused, speaking for all of them in that moment as they stared at the old man, who bit at his lower-lip.

“Steel and iron are the providence of men my faith shields me from that which is not the providence of mere mortals.” Was the simple explanation uttered by Wulfnoth, as he swallowed the last of his cheese (that which was not in his pack or satchels), his clarification though satisfactory for the red-haired girl and the brothers was apparently not enough for Kenna’s son.

“Why is that? Is it because sorcery is what protects against those things?” He persisted only to add a further question with a small grunt, “What of dragons? Do their claws and swords made from their flesh and bones count towards being the providence of mortals, or those of mystics and gods?”

“I-I’faith,” For a moment Wulfnoth sounded almost akin to a Caled, as he spluttered out in exasperation, “How am I supposed to answer one question, if you conjure forth another three? As to each of them, I do not know. Reserve it either for one of the wise or the Grand Divan, rather than torture me with this endless hailstorm of questions!”

Cormag subsided into an irritated silence. Good, thought Daegan a little meanly, of a mind that his continuous need to know everything and impatience, with any and all who did not answer at once. Still angry with him over his not having wished to bring her on this quest, especially since it was apparent to her that all her traveling companions would be lost without her.

Shivering a little, much of her anger bled out from her, due in no small part to the cold of winter. The snow crunching beneath her deer-skin boots as she drew her cloak more tightly, just as Trygve did much the same next to her.

“It is just too cold,” He grumbled miserably.

Daegan nodded her head a little, eyes ferreting throughout the forest to either side of them, as they stumbled on the road. The only one that cut through the Dyrkwoods, this road was one that she had never known anyone to have traveled upon, nor heard of anyone doing so. An idle question drifted into her thoughts, about which had come first; the forest or the unpaved road?

All about her, she noted with a frown to herself the little light shed by the suns began to fade from the forest. This left all cast in darkness, with those who walked next to her and ahead of her became barely visible.

For a time this did not appear to be noticed by Cormag who was lost in his own thoughts, irritated by this, she prayed to Scotia for him or for the druid to at last take notice of just how cold the weather was. It was Wulfnoth who at last declared, “I think this is far enough, let us find some tree-branches to start a fire.”

Organizing themselves quickly, with the druid setting Cormag to the task of starting the fire (not trusting him to wander off to gather tree branches and roots), the gathering of wood was left to Daegan and Indulf. Trygve was set to clearing the snow with a large tree branch that had fallen from a nearby tree some time before. Wulfnoth himself aided with his feet in sweeping away the snow, to make a small clearing on the road.

This done, with the wood that had been gathered, Cormag wasted little time in the striking of two pieces of flint and making of a fire. Once it grew large enough to cook a bit of salted meat they had carried with them, they ate a swift supper.

“We should take turns with to-night’s watch,” the druid declared wearily, “I shall take the first third of the night, and then it shall be left to-”

“Me,” Daegan volunteered at once.

“I think not, you hardly slept the previous night,” He objected at once, only to pat her on the hand in a fatherly manner.

“But, I wish to stand watch,” She said stiffly, aggravated by his refusal to permit her stand watch.

“Stand down Dae, you could do so tomorrow night,” Suggested Indulf genially, before he offered, “I will take up the next watch then Trygve will.”

This agreed amongst them, with each of them nodding to one another they burrowed closer to the fire. Reluctantly Daegan did the same, outvoted she would have liked to object once more to their not permitting her to stand watch. All too aware that they would not listen to her, and of her own fatigue though she claimed she was not so wearied she knew in truth that she was. Muttering beneath her breath, she promised herself she would stay awake as long as possible.

No sooner had this thought crossed her mind, than she found herself drifting away to sleep.

*****

Her dreams were filled with the strangest of visions. For a time, there was the sound of water, of a boat rocking and quaking. The blue of the sea carrying her away for a time, before it was replaced by a vision of teeth grinding together, the screams of thousands of voices crying out all around the terrible snowy mountain-peak, she found herself upon. From there her dreams were filled with fluttering wings, and claws and glittering, shining eyes.

“Daegan! Daegan! Wake up!” Someone cried out from some great distance far away. The voice quieted down before it spake up once more, “Wake up!”