Call of the Kings (7 page)

Chapter 4

‘Thank you for that great welcome. Although I have only been here a few short days, I feel as if I already belong among you.’

Following the high-profile death of their father, both Harold and Beorn Godwine were exiled to Denmark by King Edward for their part in the attempt to take over his crown. In Denmark they were reunited with Swein, their younger and psychopathically deranged brother, still with Edgiva, the former Abbess of Leominster, and a man who never let a day go by without thinking up ever more lurid ways of killing Twilight for his part in Swein’s exile. Although the Godwine brothers had no proof that the old wizard and his young tyro were involved in the death of their father by the now infamous morsel of bread choking, there were too many coincidences about that evening to discount it.

So, united in purpose and country of exile, the Godwine brothers began plotting their revenge against the veneficus, his upstart Irish tyro, and, of course, the crown of England.

It would not be long in coming.

‘I still don’t fully understand how we work and interact with the monarch of the day, whoever he or she may be,’ said a puzzled-looking Tara as she walked with Katre and Twilight through the mighty Destiny Stones at Avebury. ‘We seem to be almost duty bound to help them in their constant battles to stay on the throne against invaders, schemers, and other warlords, yet they are all committed to introducing Christianity to England by any means, a religion in which we are unbelievers. We even helped the Archbishop of Canterbury - the highest Christian in the land - by saving the abbess from Swein, although it turned out to be an exercise in futility in the end.’

Twilight considered this for a moment before replying.

‘There is no rhyme or reason to our decision to help any particular monarch, no code, no specific venefical procedure or training that says we should help kings and queens of a particular persuasion, but you’re right, we do seem to always end up on their side despite their religious fervour. The sad part about it is that in many cases our contribution, judged over the passage of time, appears to be a misjudgement or run against the tide of subsequent history. Merlin went with Arthur at first, then renounced it. I have fought with King Alfred and others against the Viking pretty much all my life, only to see Canute, a Viking king, ultimately take the throne before Edward the Confessor. Now you and I are getting drawn in to Edward’s squabbles against the Godwines. There will be other, probably fruitless venefical liaisons with kings in the future. It’s a personal choice each veneficus makes, although I will concede that our remit is inexorably expanding beyond the borders of Wessex to take in the whole of England as each attempts to strengthen and unite the land under one sovereign. The only thing I can put it down to is that being next to the seat of power enables us to influence the course of history for the better.’

‘But we don’t know if we influence it for the better, and should we try to so do anyway? Future venefici will be able to look back and decide whether taking one side over the other helped change matters significantly over the course of history, but not us. All we know is the influence our participation has on the immediate outcome, not its long-term effect. That can only truly be assessed over a period of many tens of years or even centuries. Surely the best way to influence the course of history for the better is to leave them all alone to get on with their interminable wars and wanton slaughter. Let them kill their way into the course of history without our assistance.’ Tara nodded at her own logic.

‘What would we do with ourselves?’ Twilight asked. ‘I must admit that I have grown used to a certain feeling for the excitement and vicissitudes of conflict.’

‘I think you have grown to like the big conflicts too much and that is not good for a veneficus. That’s the real reason you spend so much time in the company of kings. It’s their wars, treachery, intrigue, and constant will to dominate that keeps you interested. We should let them get on with it whilst we content ourselves with local issues and the annual handling of the Equinoctial Mists,’ Tara replied, looking at her mother for a contribution.

‘You mean such matters as the problem with the Devil’s Pit in Skellighaven?’ Katre said, doing as she was told.

‘Precisely,’ said Tara. ‘Leave the kings and queens to fight their big battles while we look after the local stuff. Turn the venefical head back to the everyday and the mundane aspects of nature. Like the wonderful words of that ‘Song of the Venefici’ you taught me.’

Tara cleared her throat and spoke the lines.

‘Kiss the winds and sense the seasons, Smell the rain and know the reasons. Feel the sun, plunge the earth Whisper plant, whisper birth. Run with hares, fly with birds Climb with trees heavenwards. Then you will know the reasons why The earth resides beneath the sky. And if you think it’s yours to change, To redesign and rearrange, Consider your time within its place As no more than a flash in space, And in that flash you would deface The beauty of its timeless place, For no more than a flash in space You would leave your own disgrace So by kissing winds of zephyr light And smelling rain throughout the night And understanding backward sight All your mistakes are rendered right; And this noble place we call our Earth Will have survived you death from birth And all will be as it was before, Your flash in space required a cure.’

She finished and looked at her teacher with steady green eyes.

‘There is no mention of war and kings and conflicts in those prophetic lines are there?’ she said softly. ‘Although a case could be made for:

And in that flash you would deface The beauty of its timeless place, For no more than a flash in space You would leave your own disgrace.’

Twilight looked at them both thoughtfully. They had a point and a very good one at that. Since Rawnie’s death he’d become a court conflict addict, drifted away from the codes that hitherto had bound him to the venefical mission. Without Rawnie’s female realism and logic he’d allowed events to take over.

It was time to reassess.

‘I think you’re right and it’s time to get back to nature and local issues. If I have grown to like the big conflicts too much, I will need your help to get over it. War can be an addictive pastime and the withdrawal symptoms difficult to deal with.’

Katre smiled and grasped his hand. With the other arm around the shoulders of the still-little Tara, the three of them walked back toward the compound. Later, as Tara slept, Katre and Twilight kissed for the first time. Then they kissed again.

It went on for quite a while.

‘I think it’s time we went back to Skellighaven to check on progress,’ said the old astounder the following morning. ‘I was reminded of a further visit when you mentioned it last night.’

‘You two go. I’m going to bake some bread. You might not eat and Tara’s getting that way as well, but I need sustenance.’ Katre smiled. ‘Besides, I got a mighty shock the last time finding out that the abbot was my birth father. That place holds too many bad memories for me.’

When the three of them had left the last time, the abbot, Kate’s mother, and former husband were suspended in complete terror over the huge drop to the jagged rocks of the Devil’s Pit below as the stunned villagers looked on. Twilight had left their fate in Tara’s hands, although he knew that there was a big difference in actually killing someone and removing their hair or fingers, especially for one so young. He had been through this himself as a tyro veneficus, the first decision to end someone’s life, and had not liked it, despite the constant reminder from the long magus that evil will always resurface if it’s not eradicated.

It was now Tara’s turn and she had decided that the suspension over the Devil’s Pit was sufficient punishment for all three, such that they would never throw anyone else over the abyss, regardless of their heresy, real or false. After a sufficient period of time babbling in abject terror as they were suspended over the jagged rocks and crashing waves, Tara had waved her father, grandmother, and the abbot back to dry land, where they had collapsed at her feet in a display of pitiful, grovelling supplication. A short speech along the lines of ‘don’t do it again or the next time you will go down into the pit’ from the redheaded tyro met with a wall of sworn redemptions and they left. Twilight fully understood Tara’s reluctance to take a life, and although it wasn’t the judgment he would have taken, as Merlin had done with him, he let her decision stand.

It was now time to see if Tara’s benefice had worked.

Immediately when they appeared in the clouds over the village of Skellighaven Twilight knew something was wrong.

There was the unmistakable trace of a strange venefical aura everywhere. In and around the village, the monastery and, worryingly, the nice big hovel and lands of Nell and Patrick Delaney. Twilight’s worst fears were realized when he saw Tara’s treacherous grandmother walk out of the hovel laughing with her bald-headed son-in-law, Tara’s father.

It looked as if their treachery had borne fruit and they had occupied the Delaneys’ hovel. So what had happened to the Delaneys?

‘Let’s go down there right now and confront them.’ Tara’s voice was strained. She had a bad feeling about the Delaneys and was beginning to regret letting the abbot - she still couldn’t refer to him as her grandfather - and her grandmother and father live.

‘Leave it for a while,’ said Twilight gently. ‘Let’s find out who this strange veneficus is and what has gone on. Unlike this new astounder, our auras cannot be traced, so he or she does not know we are here.’

The bells at the monastery began to ring, and slowly people began to emerge from their hovels and walk up the hill. Herders left their cattle, the soil-tilling tools of plant husbandry were downed, women stopped drawing water and beating their clothes in the river, and the wood chopper ceased his monotonous rhythm. Soon almost everyone from Skellighaven was in the large chapel at the front of the monastery. The faithful had gathered. With twenty-four chanting monks arrayed around him, the abbot walked slowly through the back entrance and mounted his wooden rostrum. With his fingerless hand tucked into the sleeve of his dark brown habit and a huge silver cross on a chain held in his good hand, he stood and surveyed them all until he had absolute silence.

‘Dear brethren of Skellighaven,’ he began in a sonorous, arrogant intonation he reserved for speaking down to people, ‘we are extremely lucky to have here in our small community of this great land of Ireland, two great influences to shape and guide us. The first one is the teachings of our great and beloved Saint Columba, who has provided us with a Christian gospel that shines a prodigious light on our everyday devotions and manner of behaviour, and the other one is Saint Patrick, who chased Lucifer out of Ireland and therefore out of the lives of ordinary folk. As you will all know, we here at the monastery have always striven to follow these teachings to the letter, especially in the matter of the destruction of Christian heretics, pagans, and apostates of all colours. To that end we had a tried and tested method of redemption for their wayward souls through the use of the Devil’s Pit. Recent events have, however, made that very difficult, with myself and two other devoted brethren being subjected to a form of torture that was heinous in the extreme . . .’ He paused and glared around at the assembled crowd before raising his good hand high and shouting, ‘Fortunately Saint Columba and Saint Patrick both observed our fate that day and saved us from an unjust heretic’s death.’

There were shouts of ‘Praise be to Saint Columba and Saint Patrick’ from a number of the monks.

‘Now I come to the reason for asking you all here today. There has come among us another, third great influence and one which has only recently arrived from Cill Dara, where she has been working with the Gael kings.’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘Although most of you have met, spoken, and, in some cases, already benefited from the arrival of this person, I want to use this moment to formally introduce her to you . . . Leannan Sidhe!’

He raised his good hand to the ceiling and again the monks took up the cry ‘Praise be to Leannan Sidhe.’

The abbot and monks all looked up to the high wooden rafters of the monastery as a figure in a long brown habit with the cowl pulled right down over her eyes gently floated downward.

Observing the descent the crowd began to mutter and point in excitement.

Twilight and Tara, themselves suspended invisibly in one of the high corners of the chapel, had been observing the aura of a black-haired, blue-eyed woman in her habit preparing for this great entrance.

Leannan Sidhe was the name of an old Irish witch goddess who was closely associated with the fairies
. Twilight spoke softly and directly to Tara’s mind.
Do not reply for she is too close and may pick up your words.

Tara nodded and watched the spectacle unfold beneath her. Leannan landed gently beside the abbot, dipped the cowl in a bow to him and then to the congregation. Reaching forward the abbot removed the cowl.

It was empty; there wasn’t a head inside.

Then the habit was slipped off.

Empty space, there was nothing in there.

Holding the empty habit aloft like a performer on a stage, the abbot and the monks began to chant.

‘Leannan Sidhe, Leannan Sidhe, Leannan Sidhe.’