Air: Merlin's Chalice (The Children of Avalon Book 1) (28 page)

Oh, God, he wouldn’t.

I dropped my head once again as sobs broke from me. It was hopeless. I was as good as dead. If only Bridget would wake up, we could face our death together.

The nobleman picked up a torch and held it toward the knight who struck a flint setting it on fire. Turning back to the crowd, the nobleman raised the flaming torch dramatically.

“For God and King!” he called out triumphantly.

“For God and King!” the people echoed back in one voice.

“Bridget!” I screamed. But it was no use. She was still out cold. “Bridget, wake up, oh God, please wake up!” My tears had started again.

There was nothing I could do. I was going to die.

The man came closer and closer to the bonfire and in a grand gesture sure to please the crowd, lowered the torch first to my pile of wood and then to the one surrounding Bridget.

In horror, shaking with fear, hardly able to breathe for the sobs wracking my body, I watched the fire grow. The heat of it was gentle at first, nothing more than the warmth of a campfire, but too fast it became too warm. And before I knew it, it was lapping at my feet, the acrid smoke burning my eyes and nose.

Reaching out with my foot, I tried to stamp out the flames. I tried and tried, but it was impossible. The only thing I succeeded in doing was to make the crowd laugh and shout with enjoyment at the show I was providing them. Calls of “Dance, witch!” were added to the general jeers and curses that the crowd was still throwing at Bridget and me.

I wanted to scream, but I forced myself to stop—I couldn’t give the mob that satisfaction. Somehow I managed to take a deep breath and stop crying.

I held up my head and looked directly at the throng. I might die tied to a stake, but I would die with dignity. Yes, somewhere deep down inside of me there was pride and strength, and I refused to be laughed at as I died.

Deep down inside of me… the fog of panic began to skitter away and my mind started to work. Deep down inside of me wasn’t there an incredible well of energy and magic—enough energy and magic to put out the huge fire in Gloucester? Why couldn’t I do the same thing here?

I turned my mind inward, reaching for all of my energy, just as I had done standing outside of the inn in Gloucester. I pulled it forth, brought it up, and then focused it into my hands…my hands, which were tied securely behind my back.

How could I put out a fire with my hands tied behind my back? I couldn’t! I needed my hands to direct the magic. Occasional magic I could do with just my mind, but something big like this…

Well, maybe I didn’t need something big. Anything would do just now.

I looked up into the sky and called on the wind. Closing my eyes, I concentrated with all of my heart. Come wind, come to me.

My hair waved gently in my face and the smoke began to blow away from me, but that was it. A light breeze was all I could manage without my hands. I needed my hands!

What else could I do? I thought furiously, looking up into the traitorous sky.

“Look at how she prays to her pagan god,” the nobleman called out to the people.

They all laughed at my futility.

“Give up, witch,” someone called out from the crowd. “Your god cannot help you now.”

“My God is the same as yours! I do nothing more than pray for help, pray for just one among you to have the compassion to set me and my sister free,” I called out. I looked around at the crowd, but there was no response in their expressions. No, I would find no help there.

I returned my eyes to the sky, searching for a fat rain cloud that could possibly somehow be coaxed to drop its life–giving water upon us. But I didn’t have Dylan’s powers of coaxing a cloudburst from nothing. All I could see in the blue expanse above were but a few gentle wisps of cloud.

The fire began to singe the hem of my dress.

“Scai?”

I turned toward my sister. Thank God, she was awake. “Bridget! Oh please, please do something! I’ve tried, but I can’t bring on a wind strong enough without my hands. And there aren’t the clouds to bring rain!”

Bridget shook her head as if trying to clear it and then looked down at the flames around her. She then looked up at me and smiled. “It’s still small enough. It shouldn’t be a problem.” And as she said it, the flames, which were lapping at her own feet, disappeared altogether. A moment after that, the fire underneath me was gone as well, leaving only smoldering, smoking wood.

The murmur of the crowd became intense. “Witches! They are indeed witches! Did you see that? She put out the flames!”

Women cried out in fear, and some men picked up stray, unburned sticks from the bonfires with which, I supposed, they intended to beat Bridget and me. The nobleman appeared again and in a loud voice called out, “To the river with them! If they will not burn, they will surely drown.”

The crowd cheered its relieved approval, and a moment later I found myself untied from the stake and pulled off the bonfire. I struggled briefly, but I couldn’t muster up either the strength or the magic to resist with my hands tied behind my back. As I was being dragged away through the town, I glanced back to see that Bridget had also failed to break free and was being forced to follow.

Now what were we going to do? I couldn’t swim. I didn’t know if Bridget could or not. But no matter what, we would surely drown, just as the nobleman had said.

As we were hauled through the town, I looked around, desperate for anyone or anything that might save us. I thought I saw a man peeking out from behind a closed doorway, watching. Our eyes met and I was certain that he was Vallen—and as terrified of what was happening as I was. He wouldn’t help.

As we turned a corner, I nearly tripped over a rock. And then I noticed there were rocks lining the street on either side.

“Bridget,”
I projected into my sister’s mind, “the rocks! Hit people with the rocks!”

I twisted around to see if my sister had heard.

Her eyes were wide, staring at me for a moment, and then they shifted to the rocks along the street. One lifted itself and came soaring toward one of her captors. I followed suit with my own barrage of rocks, and soon men were screaming as they were hit by the magically flying rocks.

A man holding onto me saw a rock coming toward him and let go of me to run away screaming. I dropped the rock, but before I could even start to escape, another man grabbed my arm. Without missing a step, he continued dragging me ever faster toward the river and away from the street with the rocks.

There was nothing more I could do. There weren’t enough rocks and there were too many men determined to see us drowned.

Our journey ended by the side of a swiftly flowing river. It was wide and terrifyingly treacherous. I knew that even if I had known how to swim, the current would probably be too fast for me to survive, bound as I was.

I took a long look at Bridget, who was still struggling and fighting against our captors. My heart filled with tenderness and regret. I, myself, was about to die, but I hoped my newfound, and now, deeply loved sister would be able to swim away from our terrible fate.

But no matter what, I would die fighting.

Chapter Thirty Seven

I
screamed in fury as the men holding on to me began tearing at my clothes. I might be burned at the stake or drowned in the river—but I would not be stripped by strange men. This final indignity I would not tolerate.

I fought, kicking, screaming, and biting anything that came within reach. My hands were still tied behind my back, but I fought like a hurricane. Bridget was holding her own.

“My God, it is a hell–born witch!” one of the men cried out after getting his arm bitten fiercely and his shin kicked as well.

“Leave them clothed!” a woman’s voice called out.

“Aye! What is the point in stripping them naked? They are just going to die anyway,” another agreed.

I paused in my fight, panting hard. Hardly able to breathe, I prayed that the men would listen. But if they didn’t, they would have to physically hold me down while they stripped me.

They looked at each other in indecision until the nobleman spoke up. “Strip them to their shifts. We will leave them that modesty.”

This was done, although neither Bridget nor I made it easy. Both of us then found our legs being tied to one of the stakes that had been brought from the town center. Standing next to each other, Bridget turned to me, her face streaked with tears. “We’re going to die,” she whispered.

“Hush. It’s all right. God in His grace will see us through this.”

“How?”

I wish I knew.

“Dylan’s gone. Sir Dagonet will never find us, and even if he does…”

“If anyone were to find you, it would be your dead body sunk to the bottom of the river,” a coarse man said, interrupting Bridget.

“Then we will live forever in God’s company in heaven,” I said with a great deal more bravado than I felt.

The man scoffed, and the fellow next to him laughed out loud as he continued with his chore of tying our feet securely to the stake.

My mind flitted briefly to Dylan. He had parted from me in anger—was that how he would always remember me? Was it possible that I did feel strongly toward him? I liked him, but did I love him?

Did it really matter now?

I wished that I’d had the nerve to tell him how I felt. Maybe he would have stayed if I had told him how much I liked him. Then, perhaps, we wouldn’t be in this situation—about to die.

Bridget bowed her head and truly began to weep. Her shoulders shook with her sobs, but I, with my hands tied as they were, wasn’t able to do anything to comfort my sister.

I looked around desperately, searching for a friendly face. There had to be someone somewhere who would save us from this! If only Dylan…but no, there was no one.

No one was going to save us from this except ourselves.
Come on, Scai, think,
I cajoled myself. There had to be something that either I or Bridget could…

“Do you denounce your craft, witch?” the nobleman demanded of us, so everyone surrounding us could hear.

“Denounce my craft?” Bridget asked sniffling back her tears.

“Will you give up being witches and embrace the true and right religion?” he demanded.

“We are Christian,” I cried out.

“You are witches!” the man said, appalled at my pronouncement.

I lifted my head and said with a great deal more confidence than I actually felt, “No. We’re not witches!”

“How can you lie so boldly when you are about to meet your maker?” the man next to me hissed in anger.

“But…” It was impossible to explain; I didn’t even try. Instead I called out, “In the name of God’s mercy, set us free and let us go on our way. We swear we will never come near your town again.”

“Heretic!” the nobleman cried out in horror. “Go to your rightful place in hell!” He turned his back on us and three burly men came up. One picked me up, another Bridget, and at the same time, the third picked up the stake that was tied to our feet.

Bridget struggled in the arms of the man who had picked her up. I fought and kicked and squirmed with everything I had.

I began to pray—and to cry. I couldn’t help it. I wanted to be so brave, but when it came right down to it, I was terrified.

The water was flowing fast, churning and bubbling in a race down its banks. I was given a moment to take a deep breath before Bridget and I were thrown into the water.

The shock of the ice–cold water nearly made me lose the breath I had just taken, but I held it tight. It was ridiculous; there was no way I would be able to hold my breath forever. And right now, it looked like it might just be that long before I came out of this river.

As we sank to the bottom, I struggled against the bonds that held my hands tied behind my back. Desperately, I hoped the cold would make the ropes slack. I did seem to be able to turn my hands more easily, but still the ropes were too tight to allow my hands to come free.

Bridget squirmed next to me. She must have been trying to free her hands as well.

The stake we were tied to hit the bottom of the river with a bump. Still, I twisted this way and that. I wasn’t going to give up. Bridget’s squirming seemed to have slowed down or stopped. I couldn’t feel her moving next to me anymore.

Terrified that she was just going to give up, I opened my eyes and was trying to turn toward her when something slid along my leg. I jerked myself away in fright and looked around.

A fish bigger than I had ever seen in my life had swum up next to me. It was enormous with sharp teeth. Bridget had seen it, too, and was watching it with huge eyes—that was why she had stopped moving.

The two of us watched in horror and shock as the fish took hold of the end of the rope that tied us to the stake—and swam away with it.

As it did so, Bridget and I were dragged downstream. Within moments, the fish stopped and then nudged its mouth right up against the ropes around my leg. Razor–sharp teeth scraped against me, cutting the ropes with a snap. I was free! The fish did the same to Bridget. We both kicked for our lives to the surface.

It wasn’t easy reaching the surface without the use of my hands, but somehow, with nudging from the fish, I made it.

I took a huge gasp of air, before sinking back down. But the fish was right there. I could feel its body along my arm and then my hands were free. It must have bitten through those ropes as well.

Using my arms, I pulled myself up to the surface once again—and that’s when I heard Sir Dagonet yelling my name. I caught sight of him standing in the water only about twenty feet away, holding out his hand for me. I was so tired I could barely stretch out my arm to him.

I forced myself to paddle toward him. My feet touched ground just before our fingers touched, but I was too tired to even try to stand. I grasped his hand just as Bridget reached for it as well. Somehow, the old man managed to pull us both out of the water. We all tumbled back onto the shore.

A splash at my feet had me turning in time to see the fish that had saved us jump out of the water onto the little beach, changing into Dylan’s form as it landed next to me.