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 at 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 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 Cormac 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 at that moment.

“Dae!” Cormac 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 to her feet. Pushing Cormac out of her way, as he attempted to pull her away to freedom she made for the only weapon she could reach.

Removing Cosantóir from his scabbard, she heard what appeared to be a great hymn then. It was 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 Lairdly-Isle, and of the greatest of Caled choruses that Cormac 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, so that Daegan knew this thing that she held within her grasp better than she had ever known aught else. 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.

Wrath 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 then, 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.

“Dae, move!” Choked out Cormac, 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 Cormac?”

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

“But Cormac 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. 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, 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 and down the hill to lend his aid also.

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 Cormac. He was trapped inside, and she was outside, she thought. What a fool she had been! 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 she had always felt, since 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.

“Nay 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 Cormac undertook that he barreled straight into the plump old cleric, knocking him over and sending them both sprawling to the ground.

Thrown aside if accidentally so, Daegan was fortunate in that she succeeded in maintaining her balance. Wrapped up in a cloth, that he swiftly cast aside, Cormac 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.

“Cormac!” 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 nearly 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.

“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 Cormac and Daegan to the house of the seamstress where the three of them would stay.

“They have undergone a great shock,” He proclaimed to all present, many of whom proceeded to eye the blue-eyed youth suspiciously 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 Cormac, 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 Cormac’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 by the chimney, in which he lit a small fire. The last thought Daegan had ere she fell asleep bundled up in Kenna’s warm bed, was to thank heavens for Wulfnoth and Cormac’s timely actions. Her last sight being her father’s sword leaning against the wall by the said bed.

*****

The next day was to see a great many of the villagers too weary at first to stoke their anger against Cormac. 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 when 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 all be spent on rebuilding 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 Cormac 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 you lass, a cat to sneak up on me so?” The druid demanded sharply, of the still half-asleep lass.

“Apologies, where is Cormac?” 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 continued desire to speak with Cormac. 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 Cormac 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 was 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 Cormac 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 similarly to 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 Cormac’s comportment the night prior.”

Daegan could feel her face reddening, and she might well have agreed, when a thought came into her mind. “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 of 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 Cormac 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 Cormac. 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 Cormac 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 whither 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.

“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, among the names she was to list 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 Cormac. 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 Cormac, 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 trousers, 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 lad!” 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 Cormac 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 Cormac. 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 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 cannot be thinking of leaving Glasvhail!”

“Aye, it is precisely what he has in mind,” Wulfnoth affirmed for the hesitant Cormac 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 Cormac?”

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? Nay 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.

“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 at the hands of 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 what they had decided upon.

Cormac and the rest of the lads 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. Wherefore 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 nothing 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, Cormac 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 Cormac 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, Cormac?”

“Nay,” 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 legs of the chair creaking ominously.