"It makes sense," Tenzil said. "That's why I could taste no poison. No doubt the Khunds have taken to smearing on themselves, like war-paint!"
Breaking fast in Kiwa's hall offered only sweetbreads and fruit, leaving Marcus a bit dissatisfied.
No one else seemed to mind - Tinya and MacKell savoured each morsel like they'd forgotten what food tasted like - both with good reason. Genni, the late arrival, ate more than she spoke, having run all the way from Londinium over the past two nights and the intervening day.
"I tell you, Querl. Other than the final battle where Morrigu herself came for me, the only time I ever was ill was when Maebh's minions tricked me into eating hounds meat."
"Maeve, you said?" Tinya asked. "Jonah and I met a faerie -a Fir Darrig, that said Maeve was behind the Dark Circle."
"But how could she be alive, 600 years alter?" Tenzil asked.
"How can I?" MacKell said.
"But this conqueror-queen, surely we would have heard of her? With 600 years, she could have conquered all the Isles?" Thom asked.
"Maybe she was Boudacea!" Marcus jested, earning a round of laughter.
"Maybe she's Glorith of Man," Tinya said.
"T'is possible, so it is," MacKell replied.
"I tell you, MacKell- it still seems odd to call you that, Lar Chulain- I know not how you persevere for 600 years, stuck in one place, yet. I had enough torment for one year, and I could roam!"
"Aye, but I could see. And what sights there are in this world! There is a wall, several times Britain's length, in the land from whence the Huns came! There are giant lands covered in ice, year-round - two in the north, and one in the far south! And lands in Abyssinia where huge, strange creatures roam the plains!"
Genni nodded, having seen the latter.
Querl wanted to get back to the Ulsterians' weaknesses.
"How do we test this hounds-blood theory without risking getting you or Laoraighll sick again?" he asked.
MacKell nodded. "While the Cauldron is here, I may as well be your test-bird, Querl."
The Greek nodded. "Genni tells us Rokk and James will arrive on the morrow. I'd like to solve this by then."
[ December 26, 2005, 06:35 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Notes 88-95: 88: Iaime being the inspiration for the Siege Perilous - the seat where no knight must sit- was actually a last-minute brainstorm. 89: The tail bit I made up, but Irish lore says Lesidhe (sidhe is pronounced "Shee" as in Bainsidhe=banshee) is indeed a foliage-dwelling trickster. 90: For the first time since #10, I heavily lean on Marion Zimmer Bradley here - but Tinya instead of Morgaine/Mysa. And Jo puts his own twist at the end - he wouldn't behave and just take a sip - would you? 91: I knew this was coming, but not when. 92: Too early for an outright Grail-quest. Balan's getting a bit testy lately, isn't he? 93: I'd been meaning to get into the Nura-Mysa-Rokk relations for a while. Wasn't certain, right up to the end, about Kiwa's role, though. Early on, Nura was going to be related to no one - but then I discovered by some legends, Gorlois (Morgaine le Fae's daddy) did have another daughter (presumably with Igraine), Elaine -- a different Elaine than the one that appears in later Lancelot stories. Sentanta was Irish legendary hero Cu Chulain's birth name. Mac means "son of" and Kell means "sacred" in Irish and "testicle" in Welsh. I figured as Cu Chulain was the son of the god Lugh, Lar would find the humor in this double-meaning name - spoofing his divine heritage. 94: Agravaine and Iasmin have taken longer to reach this point than I expected. 95:Be vewy qwiet. I'm hunting desewtews.
[ December 26, 2005, 06:37 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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"I don't know, but something's not right," Dyrk said.
"How so?" Despite the Roman's previous misplaced concerns about Jonah, Reep still valued Dyrk's insights.
"It's like its him... but not him. I-I really can't nail down anything in particular, other than how little he remembers. Maybe it's best... pretend I said nothing," he got up from his chair, and paced several times before exiting.
"Maybe it's simply that we were growing to be friends, yet now he seems a stranger," he said, exiting.
Reep sat alone, pondering the situation. L'ile theorized the maiden's Cauldron-offering had a delayed effect in waking Garth. But could it not be him? He changed his face to resemble Garth. There. I've done it. And what if another has?
Reverting to normal, he set about his duties. Loomius wanted to meet about planning Rokk's new fortress, L'ile wanted to discuss a winter campaign into Kent while Khundish morale was low, and there were a litany of things to attend to.
Since sipping from the Cauldron himself, he felt better than ever. So why was it so hard to get up and out of the chair?
Something bothered Reep, and it wasn't just Garth's miraculous return.
Down the hall, Dyrk was intercepted by Luornu.
"Did you ask him?" She had an impatient smile in her eyes.
"We talked of... Garth. In all honesty, I forgot." He spoke truthfully, but knew she'd think otherwise.
"I...see. If my favour means so little to you, maybe I erred in so entrusting it," she said, storming away in a huff.
"Luornu! Wait..." he tried, but she did not heed.
"Would that the maidens were as simple to understand as swordplay, eh, good sir?"
"Go away, Carolus. I'm in no temper for jests."
"If I go away, I can't give you these to send to yon maiden," Carolus held out a small bouquet of spring flowers.
Dyrk was impressed. "Is this Mordru's magic, to have such blooms in November?" He examined the flowers, when there was a sudden burst of dust and wind, and he was holding a bunch of dead, wilted, rotting weeds.
Carolus laughed. "Sorry, good sir. I knew it not - In truth I was as amazed as you at the blossoms. Serves me to trust the Lesidhe for such a gift!"
He was going to give them to Luornu himself, Dyrk realized, picturing the floral implosion as he handed them to the maiden, and joining Carolus in a good belly laugh.
"No hard feelings, aye?"
"None," Dyrk answered. "And you may call me Dyrk."
Parting ways, he considered the illusions of faerie magic - and then reconsidered Garth in that context.
[ December 26, 2005, 06:39 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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"MacKell," corrected the Irishman. "I have no wish for there to be tales of the Hound's return, hence I have taken a new name. Now come. I shall show you the cave."
He led the way to the causeway that linked the Priestess Isle to the Tor.
"Be of care, MacKell. The walkway-"
"-Can be icy this time of morning, during the cold months," he smiled. "I've seen many a crosser fall flat, so follow Beren's instructions, my friends."
"He seems well enough," Beren whispered to Querl, having drifted toward the back of the procession.
"Aye. It seems the Cauldron has removed the contact-poison reaction to the blood, but I hesitate to suggest we try a small bit of foodstuff."
"I will not again eat dog!" MacKell snapped, stunning the entire group. Clearly only Beren was in Querl's earshot, the two had thought, while the rest looked at the Hound as if he were talking to ghosts.
"I only meant as a scientific study, to test and perhaps prevent such a poisoning in the future," Querl offered, apologetically.
MacKell nodded, then smiled. "Apologizes for reacting too harshly, then."
James strolled up next to the fellow he presumed to be one of Beren's Druids, given his priestly attire.
"I must beg your pardon. We seem to have been not introduced. I am Sir James," he said.
"Good to meet you, Sir James," the lad smiled, continuing his pace. Seeing James was waiting for a further response, he added, "I cannot say my name."
James exchanged glances with Tinya. Her face told him she'd tried as well. Neither could place his accent.
The Tor was not the steepest of hills, but perhaps of the mystical nature of Avalon, it seemed like a significant climb.
Tenzil enjoyed the crisp cold air. As far inland as his mind told him they must be - he caught the unmistakable smell of seawater.
And sure enough, as the morning fogs parted, he could see the shores of the isles as the sole land in sight - only endless sea.
"How is this possible? The shores of the Priestess Isle smells not of brine?" he asked.
"All of Avalon is an island, or a set of isles," Beren said. "But it is true that each of its isles are so in different ways.
"The Priestess Isle is an isle not unlike the small marsh islands that Glastonbury once was. The Tor is a windswept isle deep at sea. Each is different," he said.
"Just as each isle holds different entryways to our world," Querl concluded. "Just as we came by the Path of Isis from Londinium to the Teacher's Isle, you and King Rokk came across the lake at Glastonbury, James. And you must exit by the same gate you entered, else possibly meet Aven's fate."
"Or worse," Beren added.
James nodded, almost grasping it. "But by which way did Lar Chulain enter?"
Querl looked to MacKell, having wondered the same thing.
He shrugged. "I know not. I was dead," he laughed. "But what if I leave by the wrong gate," he asked, turning serious. "Tell me not that I am a prisoner of the heroes here?"
"I... know not. Either we guess, right or wrong, or entreat the Cailleach -your Morrigu- to tell us," Beren said. "If lucky you are, your rebirth here may afford you the privilege of using any path - but there, too, you must always return to Avalon by the same way. If you ever choose to return."
T'would be a shame, finding him and reviving him, only to lose him again, or see him bound here, Nura thought.
Thom, meanwhile, wondered how Rokk's talks with Kiwa were proceeding.
"There!" MacKell exclaimed, pointing to the hillside.
"I see no cave," Marcus said.
"Nor has any on Avalon's own, these centuries.”
"I see it," said the mysterious young priest. "Watch!" He waved his hand, and a cloud of mist blew aside, exposing a cave.
This fellow is a wizard! thought Thom. He must be from the Teacher's Isle.
MacKell nodded, impressed. "The lad has indeed found it! I... cannot re-enter that place. I've spent enough time in there."
Inside, the group found an amazing labyrinth, a virtual rainbow crystal. The young priest seemed to commune with each vein, and he seemed the only one at home with the place.
"To spend 600 years here..." Nura whispered. The crystals took her words, and overlapped them with a strange instant-echo effect.
Tinya shivered. It seemed that the ghosts of many hundreds still lingered here. What if she, too, were to become trapped here?
In a sudden panic, she fled the cave, running straight into MacKell's arms.
"Tinya! What is it?" he asked, as she tried to catch her breath.
"I know not. It was as if each of those crystals were a soul, and they wanted to ensnare me within them."
The others followed her out. "Tinya! Are you well?" Beren asked.
Sharing her feelings, she found that each visitor had a remarkably different type of reaction to the cave, yet only she and Querl held any negative experience.
"Tinya was not wrong. Another soul will be imprisoned there someday," Nura said.
[ December 26, 2005, 06:41 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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"Dyrk took me with him for a few tasks. He'd fallen on his face, apparently with an illness, at the market square, and asked for my assistance.
"We hunted a small fire drake out in the forest, and returned to find his enemy- Craniilus -Camius-"
"Cranyac," Imra offered.
"Yes, Cranyac. He and his men were waiting for us on the south road. We fought them, with Dyrk faring poorly, apparently still plagued by illness. It was up to me to face Cranyac."
"Did you?"
"...I faired less well than I expected. Dyrk, in his trickery, had felled two of.. Cranyac's men, and feigned difficulty with the third - actually the weakest and poorest fighter of the three. I knew what kind of swordsman I was supposed to be, yet wasn't achieving that."
"What happened next?" Imra asked, sliding back on her throne.
"As Cranyac took the upper hand, Dyrk shouted, 'Taranaut!' and I realized what he'd meant. I parried with one hand while moving my hand in the pattern I'd practiced. The lightning bolt fried Cranyac, and burned away the last of the faerie dust," she concluded at last.
"So it was then that you realized you were not Garth?" Imra said, while silently bidding Reep, who'd been listening at the door, to come back later.
"Then and only then," she blushed. "Everything we said yesterday-- I thought I was-"
"We both did," Imra said. "I pray you'll keep your confidence?"
"I shall. What is between you and my brother concerns no one else."
Imra smiled, thinking of Dyrk's ruse. He cleverly let the public believe him ill, coaxing Cranyac into making his move - and then testing the imposter's mettle. Yet he did not expect there to actually be any Taranaut, did he?
"So, we've covered everything but one. What do I call you?"
"Ayla."
"I am pleased to meet you, Ayla." She hugged Garth's sister, who unstiffened for the first time since the questioning began.
"I truly believed that Garth returned from the dead - and I knew you believed yourself to be him. Truly, I do. I hope that you'll stay, and either join my court ladies, or, as you've shown aptitude, the knights."
Ayla stared.
"Oh, come now. With Laoraighll and Lu, you'd hardly be the only lass among the lads," Imra smiled.
"I... must think on that," Ayla answered.
"Please do," Imra said, seeing her out. "Please stay with us."
Ayla walked down the hall, trying not to notice all those who stopped and stared.
Oh, Garth, she thought. Why did I ever come here?
"Oh, Garth," Imra echoed in the chambers behind. "I truly miss you. It hurts... gods. how it hurts."
[ December 26, 2005, 06:43 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Kiwa looked down on the young man laid out before them. She knelt and caressed his cheek. So cold, even for this December air.
She recalled Ban - handsome King Ban. The time was harsh in Lesser Britain, and the new king needed to make the Great Marriage to earn the backing of his people. I was but a young maiden myself, she thought. And what a gift the gods gave us! Twins!
Her mind drifted to memory: young Garth and Ayla visiting the Priestess Isle, not long after she herself had become its Lady. How amazed the maiden-students were to see the Lady playing with the tots! It almost eased the pain of losing Elaine. Nura.
She looked to Nura. She knows not, and this is not the time to tell her. But Ayla remembered, and came forward to hug her.
Mekt was remembering, too. As Ban's eldest and the only heir Ban's queen would birth, he took delight as a child in lording over his siblings, and tormenting them. As they grew and he reached maturity, he became their mentor and protector.
Was in really two years ago? he asked himself, recalling the strange trip along the seacoast. A storm sprang from nowhere, and the trio - separated from the servants and provisions - had to make shelter at the great stones at Karnak. No one could have foreseen what would happen. "Taranaut," he whispered. Ayla squeezed his hand.
Mysa looked and saw both the little boy who called her "Mysa of the Fairies," and the young lover who could push her inner torments aside with his smile... and dispel them with his touch...
"You love her, don't you?" I had said to him, the last time we lied together. "Yes. Yes, I do," he sheepishly replied. His worried frown faded when I leaned forward and kissed him again, reaching for more... Mysa's thoughts were interrupted by a rude stare from Imra.
Ayla recalled Garth's growing pride of being Lesser Britain's great hero, and the call to arms to meet the Khunds at Camulodunum. "Be careful," said I. "Worry not, my sister. I shall single-handedly slay the mightiest of Khunds in your honour!" he said. She sobbed at the memory. The mighty Zaryan was dead, yes, but so was Garth!
Mekt reached out to comfort her.
For MacKell, the hill was deja vu. He'd seen the entire battle from afar, but now he was here in person. He could lay out the field - where Lu was, the Computus, how Dyrk rushed in - everything. But the vision of Zaryan rushing Lu... she fired the ballista! Zaryan was knocked aside and barely breathing...
Garth, barely able to stand, shouting '"No! The curse! Let it not be her!"
He limped over to the Khund, moving his hands in a pattern... bringing the-
"Lightning. It's almost time," Rokk said, interrupting MacKell's thoughts. "No one is obligated to stay here. No one shall think the lesser of any who leave. After all, it's only for the 13 of us to risk. As long as Kiwa's spell is successful, only one of us - if any of us- will die."
Rokk himself was thinking of his meeting with Kiwa, now weeks ago. "Of course I shall help. But Khundish magicks are different. There may be a sacrifice needed," Kiwa said. Yet I cannot also recall the bitter look of the senior priestess Azura. She looked as if I'd take Kiwa's life.
Watching the lightning strikes across the sky, he thought, maybe she was not far wrong.
Jonah, L'ile, James, Iasmin... everyone pondered their beloved friend as an icy rain commenced, immediately pouring down in sheets.
Rokk and Thom passed out the metal rods that the Priestesses had been crafting for the past month.
Too many had insisted a place in the circle, so lots were drawn: Rokk, Imra, Reep, MacKell, Ayla, James, Thom, Kiwa, L'ile, Dyrk, Agravaine, Brandius and Mekt would participate. They formed a circle around Garth's body. The rest would hold vigil behind them.
Kiwa invoked the gods, but few could hear her words. Only the phrase, "Take one of us!" made it through the wail of the storm.
Luornu grumbled, but held her tongue. This is blasphemy! They threaten not only their own souls - but Garth's!
Balan's thoughts were even less charitable.
As if in response to Kiwa's invocation, lighting was striking closer and fiercer. Many were knocked around or down by the raw intensity of the storm: wind and rain, even if not the blasts themselves.
"Shield your eyes!" Nura warned, instants before lightning struck the circle. The thunderclap knocked everyone down, and it would take minutes or more to regain eyesight and hearing.
One of us was hit. But who? Rokk thought.
The wind cleared, and L'ile and James were the first to recover and relight their torches.
As everyone else recovered, L’ile found the body of the one whose life was called. "Reep! No!"
[ December 26, 2005, 06:45 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Hey. I've had a fun couple of hours reading through this. I like you how twisted the powers to fit in with their world... definitely one of the cooler AUs I've seen.
[ January 06, 2005, 09:51 PM: Message edited by: Pizza Delivery Girl ]
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For more than a month they'd evaded their pursuers.
But no more.
At the edge of Perilous Forest, they'd walked into an ambush. A band of about 30 of Tarik's knights had cornered the deserters.
The Northman led them to retreat to a cave, where the knights could only come at them two at a time.
Frustrated with the potential stalemate, Caradoc called in.
"Every warrior gets cold feet. Tarik is not so unforgiving that you must die for your error. Come out, and I will assure you a reasonable punishment - say, guard duties on the northern coasts."
Hearing no answer, he tried again. "If you surrender not, we will have no choice to kill you all."
His scouts returned, telling him there was no trace of any other egress from the cave.
Caradoc lined up his men in the order that would proceed in, assuming 10 at the most could do the job.
The first two entered, only to run out screaming, covered in vines.
"It's only a vine mesh. A Druid trick, you fools," the leader sighed.
"Sorry, sir. It felt like snakes."
The next two entered, and also fled, screaming.
"What now?"
"I swung my sword into one of them, but it bent as if I'd hit rock. A-And then, a burst of darts hit us-"
Caradoc nodded. "The Orkneyman's dart trick. Very well, we shall smoke the out."
He ordered his men to start a fire at the cave's mouth, while others gathered heavier logs for a bonfire. As the blaze got going, a two-headed Ettin charged out screaming, frightening the men, and kicking the fire out.
One archer managed to get off a shot, but missed before the creature fled within again.
"Fools!" Caradoc raged. "The entire winter campaign is botched because you can't finish off these villains!" This wasn't entirely true- Rokk's surprise routing of the Khunds caused plans to be re-thought- but his men didn't have to know that.
"Archers, watch the cave at all times! Fire detail, build the bonfire before lighting it! And I want two knights on duty neat the cave's mouth to protect the fire-builders!" he continued.
The base was built, and larger branches were being piled on, when a burst of flame shot out of the cave, prematurely lighting the fire and setting the two fire-builders ablaze.
The two guard knights rushed up, and eventually extinguished their blazing comrades with their cloaks.
"ENOUGH!" Caradoc bellowed. He drew his sword and entered himself.
The Pict stood at his front. Caradoc guessed his stony look may be more than a look, based on the one knight's report.
"How much gold will it take to separate you from your companions?" he asked, pretending to reach for his purse, but instead threw his cloak over the man's face, and slipped by him.
The steel he met was easily enough defeated, and as he surmised, the dart and fire tricksters hadn't the time for more assaults.
He marched them outside for proper execution, only to find his men writhing on the ground.
"With the pox they have, I'd advise against touching them," said a cloaked maiden. She withdrew her hood, revealing a pale, disease-marked face.
"You made it!" the Northman beamed.
"More trickery!" Caradoc waved his sword, not certain whether to assault the maiden. Surely she could not have afflicted his men in so short a time?
"Sneeze!" she commanded, and he did - a deep, painful sneeze.
"Cough!" She commanded, and he began coughing so hard he could barely hold his sword.
"Let us flee, my comrades," she told the rebels.
"Should we not kill him whilst we have the chance?" the Northman asked.
"Nay. He did my mother a good turn once, when still an honourable knight he was," she said. "I owe him that."
But approaching closely, so he could not fail to hear, she added, "But the scales are balanced, Caradoc. Leave my friends alone, else you shall die a more painful death than you may imagine."
"Come, lads," the Northman called. "We must get to Londinium with even greater haste!"
[ December 26, 2005, 06:46 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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At last! They return home from Lothian's Yule celebrations!
He skulked along the hillside, seeking the best approach to the camp, doing his best to remain silent. Although the night was his ally and kept him from being seen, it also hid many of the branches he had to weave through.
The snow crunched softly beneath his feet - too softly, he hoped, for the night guards to hear.
He was almost within earshot.
The fire crackled, helping to cover his noise, but the horse whinnies made him take pause.
The two Novantae men chatted and joked, ignoring the horses, as means to distract themselves from the cold, and help keep themselves awake.
These are no true warriors, naught but poor mercenaries in Amhlaidh's pay, he thought. If it's Amhlaidh's gold they value above all else, then they, too, will accept death as a payment.
He crept silently to the back of the tent, grateful that the snow was more powdery where the horse and foot traffic had stirred up the surface.
The back of the tent betrayed no opening.
No matter.
He removed the faerie gauntlet from his left hand, and let his palm burn a hole in the tent-side.
May the smell of burning hides not wakes those within, he wished, not daring to pray it so.
Luck was still with him, and the woman was only starting to wake from the stench.
"W-Who is there?" she hoarsely tried to shout as the intruder entered. Unheeding, he made his way to the old man who slept beside her.
The children were starting to stir, whether it was her attempt to shout, the smell, breeze through the new back entryway.
"Amhlaidh, I name you betrayer," he silently said with sadness. There was no pleasure, no gloat to be had.
He pressed his palm onto the sleeping man's face, who awoke with a shriek of agony.
The guards rushed in with torches, and the two sleeping guards awoke as well. They saw a dark-helmed man kneeling over their master's headless body, and the smell of burnt human flesh made them gag.
The two fully awake guards pulled their swords, while the other two groggily reached to find theirs.
The woman hoarsely wailed at the sight of her man, while the children cowered.
I should have killed the first two ‘ere, he realized his mistake, in too hastily seeking his vengeance.
The first guard swung his sword, but the intruder dodged, and knocked the weapon aside, hitting the flat with his palm.
Pulling the sword back for another try, the weapon seemed lighter, and a small splash of molten steel rained down on the woman, causing her to shriek in earnest.
The two standing guards looked at each other, then ran.
"Children! Flee," ordered one of the awoken two, raising a glaive to parry off the fiend. "You, too my lady!"
This one is smart enough, the intruder thought. He reached for the blade, but hit only air, as he was anticipated. Feigning a grab by his deadly left hand, but caught the pole itself below the blade with his right.
The small wound was worth it, as the metal sizzled.
"GO!" The guard again ordered the children, realizing the mother was cornered.
"Caelestia! Leyllain! You must go," their mother ordered, as they indeed fled.
"Go. Watch over them," the head guard ordered the fourth man.
With the pole gone, he reached for his sword.
"That won't stop me," the intruder sneered.
"Nay, but it buys time."
And it did. Within a minute, it was just the intruder and Amhlaidh's bride.
"Before you kill me, please tell me why?" she whispered.
The intruder was angered.
"Not one soul in my village received such privilege!" he shouted, reaching for her face.
[ December 26, 2005, 06:51 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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"Let me look at you!," Tinya playfully grabbed Jonah's face, inspecting it carefully. He was only too happy to let her. "All those dragon teeth wounds are gone!"
"You ought to know. You healed them," he smiled. Spontaneously, he picked her up. Seeing her surprise, he said, "I could touch you not for a year, and could not even see your phantom for a month and a half. I'm not letting you go again!"
They laughed, and paused for a kiss.
The others passed them by, continuing the descent.
"I guess Jonah will be too busy to lead patrols into Kentish country for a while," James laughed. "How do you feel?"
"Well, have you ever awoken, having slept on your arm so soundly that you woke, but it remained limp, asleep, with no feeling - and how it stung as it awoke? Well, my whole body feels as such - only 10 times worse," Garth said, trying to smile. He walked stiffly indeed, but insisted on walking, as Beren advised.
Rokk and Imra walked close by, although Mekt and Ayla insisted on being the ones to accompany him, and offer support if needed.
"I still understand not this ploy," Rokk said.
"Well, it all started with Saihlough's trick. She saw how distraught we were with Garth's demise, and thought granting Ayla's wish would please us. Faeries don't view life and death as we do," L'ile began.
"But she used so much magic transforming Ayla, that she half-faded from the world herself. Drifting in another realm, perhaps the one Tinya dwelled in so long, she overheard the plan to 'fix' the sacrifice," he continued.
Imra appreciated that L'ile did not mention that she learned of Kiwa's plan, and intended to make the sacrifice herself.
"But why would Kiwa-?" Rokk began.
"Even though distant, she is Garth's mother. And perhaps she felt that she would rather give up her life, with her years, than see a younger person perish," L'ile conjectured.
They looked over at Kiwa, who was deep in a hushed conversation with Nura.
"Best not to disturb them. Continue, L'ile," asked Imra.
"Saihlough alerted myself and Reep, and Reep told the Lesidhe to find the rod that Kiwa specially enchanted-"
"-Which I used, along with Iaime's magic belt, to take on the lightning bolt myself - and survive!" Reep finished. "Unfortunately, the Lesidhe, still hidden inside my cloak, enjoyed no such benefit."
"I marvel that Querl let it out of his possession long enough to let you," Rokk said. Ever since Iasmin had given it to him, it was his constant companion - even more so than Laoraighll.
"We... forgot to tell he we were borrowing it," L'ile admitted. "The fewer who knew the plan, the better."
Rokk nodded.
"And praise be that the Grail is back were it belongs - in Christian hands!" Luornu announced. "May it never leave again."
Dyrk winced. He knew what was yet coming.
"It should go to Rome, there the pope himself may be its steward, as God wills," she continued.
"I have thought on this," Rokk said "Mayhap the best place to keep it is Avalo-"
"My liege! You CAN'T!" Balan erupted. "We would be remiss as Christians to let heathen hands keep watch over the Grail!"
"The Cauldron was being my gift to King Rokk. It is his to decide how used it shall be," Laoraighll said, showing off her still-improving Latin.
"Nay! T'is-" Luornu began.
"ENOUGH!" Rokk shouted, earning the attention of the entire procession, which came to a stop.
He turned to Luornu and the still-smouldering Balan. "While I believe Avalon is the best place to keep it, I have heard you." He turned to Thom. "Did you not tell me there were Christians on Avalon?"
"Aye. A community that claims descent from Joseph of Arimathea dwells on the fifth island," he said. "When I was well enough, I would visit with the priest there."
"Then that is where the Cauldron-Grail-whatever shall be kept!" Rokk announced. "Lady Kiwa, may entrust you to-"
"Trust HER!" Balan shouted. "Trust a heartless pagan priestess who seeks to corrupt the souls of our high king - and all Britain?"
"Mind your words!" shouted Garth. Although too wobbly to fight, he drew his sword.
As did Balan.
"Garth! Bother! Calm thyselves" Balin tried, but neither listened.
"You're too weak, Garth," Balan chided. "Go on. Try!" He waved his arms open to give the knight a shot, but as his arms began reflecting torchlight, Garth knew better than to try. At first he appeared to tremble, but he was only moving his fingers and lower arms very rapidly...
"Both of you! Stop this!" Rokk commanded. "This has been a day to celebrate - yet know two good knights are at each others throats? NO, I say! Stand down at once!"
The two reluctantly did so, as Balan stuck his sword into the ground.
"Now shake hands."
Their arms made pace, but not their eyes.
"Good Sir Balan, please. I beg of thee-" began Kiwa, using soft, soothing words. Mysa had seen her tame ogres with such a magical lull.
Balan trembled in anger.
"-Let us not be at odds," she continued. "Why, we can let Father Marla himself deliver the Cauldron-"
"-ENOUGH, SORCERESS!" Balan shrieked, picking up his sword and cutting her down in one fell swoop.
Everyone stood agape, as did Balan at his deed. Suddenly, he dashed off into the woods. Regaining his wits, Balin pursued.
"Mother!" Ayla said, choking on the word. L'ile and Beren knelt to tend her, but there was nothing that could be done.
[ December 26, 2005, 06:53 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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James's team entered the besieged city of Durobrivae without fanfare.
Since Jonah's conquest of the city almost two months ago, a heavy British infantry presence existed in an uneasy silence with the heavily Khundish population.
James was shocked at the atmosphere of naked anger. Senior troops from Londinium freely took out their rage for Zaryan's attack - openly and publicly on the streets.
Yet not a Khundish man aged 12 to 50 appeared on the streets. Did Zaryan bleed dry his best warriors? If so, then good, he thought.
The occupied Khundish settlement, their closest to the Londinium, would be the launching point for further subjugation of Kent - if necessary. The withdrawal of forces by the rebel kings made that problematic, however.
James' riders were welcomed by Sir Derek, who Rokk had charged with overseeing the occupation.
He vowed not to redress Derek in front of his men - but felt obligated to see some moderation by the troops.
They were ushered into the municipal hall, an imposing Roman structure that looked out at both bridges across the Medway - the key to Durobrivae's strategic importance.
"Greetings, Sir James," smiled the Khund.
James had to stifle a laugh, thinking of a joke Dyrk had made about why Khunds smile.
"James, may I introduce Duke Kiritan of West Kent," Derek said, doing his best to contain his sneer.
"I greet you on behalf of King Rokk," James said.
The men sat, and Derek's men fetched ale.
"If you will forgive me for cutting through the pleasantries, I wish to be frank. With Zaryan's death, his brother Galmark is now king, and he wishes peace," Kiritan began.
He nodded at the skeptical looks he received.
"Zaryan decimated our forces in a foolhardy move than most of us opposed. I know you'll believe it not, but it began with his... conversion."
That drew curious eyebrows, at least.
"Two springs ago, Zaryan accepted Bishop Vidar's invitation to attend Pentecost services in Londinium. The two became fast friends, and they talked of a mighty cathedral to be built in Kent - in Canterbury.
"While Zaryan welcomed Vidar's missionaries, they did little to win over the populace as quickly at the two schemed.
"Zaryan fumed - raged even - and I believe Vidar urged him on. Whenever the two spent time together, Zaryan returned more fixated, more zealous than before.
"Vidar's ouster to Rome confused him, yet word came that there was treachery afoot - and he aligned himself with a pair of exiled Suevi rulers - and the court of Lothian. As a pledge of alliance, Queen Morgause and Zaryan exchanged fosterlings."
The mention of Morgause made James uneasy, thinking on word from the north... but no matter.
"So, you say Zaryan, a Christian, attacked Londinium, the seat of Christianity in Britain?" James questioned.
Kiritan nodded. "It seems unwise, true. But Zaryan was near-crazed, raving about the heathens and devil-worshipping cults, as Vidar told him. He wanted to strike them down, and hurt the king who abided by it."
That certainly sounds like Vidar, James thought, cringing at the memory of Balan. Maybe Vidar's madnesses have stronger roots than we believed.
"King Rokk is prepared to make peace, contingent upon several conditions," James began. "First, you must tell us everything you know of the Suevi monarchs and their allies..."
[ December 26, 2005, 06:54 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Garth stood on the terrace of the absent Sir Derek's villa, looking out at the snow. He stepped out from the enclosure, stepping out into the snow. As he did as a boy, he stuck out his tongue, to catch, taste and drink snowflakes.
"You are still a little boy!" Mysa chided. "And you'll be lucky not to catch ill if you stand out in the snow without boots!"
"That I can feel the wet snow through my leggings is miracle enough. Come! Join me out here!"
She giggled. About to object, she thought, Why not? and did so.
"Brrr!" she shivered, wading after him, trying to match his footsteps in the powder to ease her way. Finding a spot of ice mixed in the snow, she almost fell, but Garth was close enough to catch her.
"Why are we out here?" she laughed.
"Listen."
They stood there, listening to the flakes silently drift earthward.
He looked at her as if to say, "Do you here that?"
Her face silently said, "Hear what?"
He smiled. His grin was so infectious and warm, she couldn't help but join in.
"Not a bird, mouse or deer about. Not a soul," he whispered. "No breeze, no voice, no sound."
"It is beautiful, isn't it?" she whispered back. It had been so long that she had no concerns other than to enjoy a snowfall. "The world is quiet and white, and no-one here to steal it from us."
"And no one here to steal you from me, or see me do this!" He pushed her down, and leapt himself down into the snow. She protested and laughed, as they threw snow at each other.
Catching their breaths, they came face-to-face, and kissed. Despite the realization of dampness and coldness with the ceasing of motion, neither made physical comfort the priority of the moment.
One kiss turned into a series of little kisses, with Garth following each deep, passionate kiss with a short kiss upon her lower lip, as if a signature.
Finally, he paused, looking straight into her eyes.
"Marry me, Mysa."
She hadn't expected that - what to answer? What about Imra? What about Mordru? What would the court think?
But before she could gather any words, a sensation came upon her.
She sneezed in his face.
Unable to help herself, she began laughing, but managed to blurt an apology between guffaws.
Garth's embarrassment segued into his own laughter. "Let's get you beside the fireplace, my lady!"
[ December 26, 2005, 06:56 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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The same snowfall also covered Londinium in a blanket, although the occasional horse or patrol made temporary ripples in the peace.
MacKell, too, was as enchanted with the snowfall as Garth, tasting it, feeling it, squeezing a handful and watching it melt between fingers until only a small root-like wad remains.
Jonah and Tinya came upon him, and greeted him.
"Good day, young lovers! Is it not a glorious day?"
Indeed, the first snowfall of note since his -our- return could be no less beautiful, she thought. How strangely joyous, as it also reminds me the most of floating around unseen.
"It is indeed," Jonah agreed. "May I ask you to look after my Tinya a moment? I must inquire with Farther Marla of word from Lothian."
"T'would be a pleasure," MacKell replied, and turned his attention to the maiden. "How are you settling into court?"
"W-Well enough, I guess. It's odd, though. I know all of them well enough- mayhap too well- but they know me not at all, except Guinevere."
MacKell nodded. "We have much in common, including that. I could tell you the layout of Querl's laboratories, yet that would not make me his friend - only earn his suspicion. Perhaps that you have seen so much gives them less ease."
"You're a man of insights," she sighed. "I-I wish Jonah could be more so-" A sniffle and sob that she didn't intend to issue did so of their own accord.
He wiped her tear.
"For a year, you two loved but could touch not. Despite the pain, it also... made yours a pure, ideal love," he said softly. "Expect the bruises of the heart, now that you have each other, or..."
She waited for his words.
"...I should not say this; perhaps my thoughts are coloured by the maiden who saved my life." He looked at her, eye-to-eye, and was about to speak. "I-"
"No word at all!" Jonah returned, loudly sharing his misfortunes with any who'd listen, whether they cared to or not. "MacKell? You look as though you swallowed your heart!"
"Nay," the Irishman joked. "The worms did that 500 years ago!"
As the couple went on their way, Tinya looked back, guessing what his words would have been.
MacKell had turned the other way, returning to the palace.
[ December 26, 2005, 06:57 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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