Sanctuary (Dominion) (17 page)

"I think I’m losing my mind. I can’t tell anymore if I’m dreaming or if something terrible just happened to me. And now, when all I need to do is find Ewen, so he can explain what really happened last night, he disappears.”

Pepin sat at the desk next to me and gazed out the narrow window, lost in a thought.

“Do you remember Pere Corbus?” he said finally, and I nodded. Father Corbus was an old monk at the monastery in Poitiers who could scare off a wolf with his scowl. “You could never speak with him, because you didn’t understand our language, but he had stories to tell. He was very much like Humbert, only less pleasant to be around. He used to tell a story when I first arrived about a man he met in Constantinople, which he visited when he was young. This man, whose name I cannot remember, killed many people, and when he was caught, he was sentenced to death. But before he died, he asked to see a priest. Corbus knew some of the clergy there, so he was lucky enough to be part of the traveling party of the priest who went to see this man, to hear his confession before God.”

“When they came to the prison, the man was stripped naked, and chained to the floor, and he sat on his knees, but not in prayer. He spat at all of the priests, and then he laughed at them, and told them they preached lies and false hope. They prayed for him, but that just made him angrier and he screamed at them to stop. In between his outbursts, though, Corbus said this man became quiet, perhaps even sane, and he cried for what had happened to him. And that's when he told them the demon had his soul now, and nothing they could say or do would change that. He said that they would see the truth themselves someday. It might take a thousand lifetimes, but they would know."

"Know what?"

Pepin shrugged. "The priests left, and Corbus never said what happened after that. After a while, he stopped telling the story."

“Why did you never tell me this before?”

“I never thought about it until now. Your talk of Ewen reminded me.”

“Ewen is not a crazed murderer,” I said, though the force of my words faded before I could even finish the sentence. I was trying to defend a man who’d nearly killed me.

“How do you know?” Pepin asked. “You’ve been here a day longer than me. What more do you know about him than I do?”

I slumped down in my chair. “I don’t know what to do, Pepin. I’m lost. I know what I saw in Rogwallow. I know what I felt. And last night was the same. I’m being given a sign. A path has been laid out for me, but,” I shook my head, “I can’t see it yet. God is telling me something, but every time I try to lean closer, to hear Him better, He just pulls away. What do I do?”

Pepin nodded thoughtfully. “You are not having an easy time, I agree. But if God is trying to talk to you, then at least you’re in a place where you should be able to hear Him, no?”

My eyes rested on a heavy, brightly polished, silver cross hanging on the wall opposite the hearth. I wanted to agree with him, but the words never left my mouth. Someone may have been trying to talk to me last night, but I wasn’t so sure it was God. Ewen said the demon wanted me dead. Whether real or a dream, those words stayed with me, reminding me that I’d become involved in something terrible.

“Maybe,” I said, dejected. Neither of us had anything else to say, so I excused myself and returned to my room, preferring some solitude to think and meditate. Eventually, the frustration faded and I forced myself to get out and move on to more practical matters, like my work for the day, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t escape the idea, one that seemed both old and new, that dark days were already here.

*****

That day, the last one of October and the day before All Saints Day, turned out to be one of the longest of my life. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't get Ewen out of my head, and I fretted constantly about what had happened to me. I kept expecting headaches, or waking dreams, or evil voices in my head, and although none of those things occurred, the worry that they might hung over everything I did, affecting my chores and leaving me in a terrible mood. Luckily, the church was empty today, leaving me to brood alone.  Evening came far too late, but when it finally did, I made my way to the kitchen, where Deaga and Agnes had prepared a small dinner. Pepin lounged at the table, his feet crossed, but he sat up when he saw me enter and nodded, a gesture I returned.

“There’s the young one,” Agnes said while laying out bowls on the counter. A large kettle of boiling water sat on the stove, with two bags hanging from a wooden rack above so that they dipped into the water. The larger bag was filled with milk, butter, flour and two small pheasants, while the smaller bag had vegetables. “Just in time for my feast. There’s only a few of us here tonight, so that means more for everyone.” She smiled, a gesture so infectious that I couldn’t keep from smiling back, despite my mood. I sat down at the table next to Pepin.

“It’s been quiet today,” I remarked.

“Wonderfully quiet,” Agnes said. “That’s because that doddering old fool is off with the children. Took ‘em to Harrow’s Hill, to preach against the festivals tonight.” The night before All Saints Day was called Samhain, which pagan Britons celebrated with a festival harvest, or with ceremonies to remember the dead. “I suspect he only agrees to do it every year so he can look for those awful girls who dance naked in the woods. That man is full of sin. But not this year. Eadwyn tricked him into taking Aengus and the boys with him. That’ll slow down his lechery.” Agnes smiled broadly. “Although, we could certainly do without those fool pagans out dancing around bonfires. We can’t see them, but I know they’re out there, making my skin crawl. Reveling in sin is what they’re doing.”

“The pagans call it
Oidhche Shamhna
,” Deaga said. Agnes gave her a surprised look and Deaga turned away sheepishly. “I learned that from someone at the church in Lodis.”

“Why in the world would you be learning about pagan rituals in a Christian church?”

“I didn’t ask to learn it,” she protested. “One of the servants at the church grew up pagan and he would tell us stories about it. I just remember them. That’s all.”

“You’d best be forgetting about them, in my opinion. No good comes from dancing naked around the fire and slaughtering cattle to pagan devils of the night.”

“It’s actually a celebration of the new year,” I said, and Agnes turned her glare to me now. But I didn’t care. “In Celtic society, the new day begins at dusk. They believe that a new day or a new year begins in darkness, where you can only hear the whisperings of a new beginning. It’s like a seed in the ground. It begins its life in the dirt, in the dark, planting roots and expanding without knowing how deep it is, or what awaits when it finally breaks through the topsoil. So their new year starts at dusk today, which should be any time now. The beginning of winter, the dark time of year, is when everything begins for them.”

“Blasphemous,” Agnes said. She grabbed her stirring spoon, held it threateningly in my direction, and then proceeded to stir the stew. “Ridiculous, blasphemous tripe. How in God’s green earth do you even know that?”

“I learned it when I was a child.”

“You should be careful what you speak of, Daniel. God hears your words.”

I wanted to challenge her on that account, but I didn’t. Bad mood or no, Agnes would lecture me all night long if I pushed her past her breaking point.

“We have no pagans in my land,” Pepin said. “We are Christian, all of us.”

“A blessed thing indeed,” Agnes said. She banged her spoon on the side of the kettle a little harder than necessary to shake off the excess stew. “Apparently we’re still fighting the good fight up here.”

Our feast turned into a tense, quiet dinner. I was mired in my own thoughts and had little to say. Agnes still seemed upset about our discussion of Samhain. Deaga wanted to avoid upsetting Agnes any more than she already had. Pepin sensed the discord and having learned a lesson about attracting the wrong kind of attention, stayed silent. Meanwhile, Eadwyn was so nervous about the All Saints Day ceremonies he would be leading tomorrow morning that he was completely oblivious to it all. As each of us finished our meal, we quietly shuffled away to our own devices, and when I went to my room, I laid down on my bed, thankful that this miserable day had finally ended.

I was spared any more nightmares that night. Instead, I had a dream, although calling it just a dream doesn’t do it justice. I stood on a shore overlooking the ocean on a clear, sunny day. It seemed a familiar place to me, but I couldn’t think of its name. Another land was visible just at the horizon. I’d heard Ireland could be seen from the west coast of Britain on such a day, but I couldn’t say for sure if that was the land before us. I say us because I wasn’t alone. A woman stood with me, several paces to my right. She was young, about my age, with long, auburn hair and a pale complexion. She stared out across the water, while I watched her longingly. I’d never seen a woman so beautiful before in my life, and I couldn’t pull my eyes away, nor did I want to. But one thing about her troubled me greatly. She was incredibly, heart-wrenchingly sad.

She sang a song, a mournful melody that I didn’t recognize and that I couldn’t remember the next morning no matter how hard I tried. But I didn't remember the gloom nearly as much as I did her voice, which was astonishing. I remember feeling a wave of emotion wash over me, forcing me to my knees, where I cried like a wounded child. When she finally stopped, the emotions lifted away, letting me breath again. I stood, wiping the tears from my face, just in time to see her walk into the water. I made no move to stop her. Somehow I knew she would be safe, that she was only trying to return home, but she couldn’t. When the water reached her neck, she would stop, and turn around, and lament her isolation once again. And sure enough, that’s what happened.

We were not alone, however. Farther down the shore stood a well-dressed man holding a sword. He was tall, thin, with pale, refined features and long, immaculately straight blond hair that hung halfway down his back. He watched the woman intently with his piercing blue eyes, though not in wonder. No, I saw grim determination in that expression, fueled by desperation. If I had to guess, I’d have said he was here to kill her.

A raven flew by, and I turned, following its path across the sky. It flew over a wooden cross that stood on the bluff behind us, and then down the shore in the opposite direction, where I saw two Vikings standing some distance away. A black wolf lounged casually on the ground between them, though when it saw the raven, it tensed and eyed the bird as if just now realizing an enemy had approached.

After staring for a moment, I realized one of the Vikings was actually a dwarf wearing Viking-styled armor. They were both heavily armed and armored, as if for battle, though the dwarf seemed uninterested in fighting anything. He only glared at the wolf, as if it might steal the bread from his hands, while the wolf watched the raven carefully.

That other Viking, a well-built man, also young, with light-brown hair, was busy plunging his sword angrily into the sand, over and over again, his eyes wild and exultant. Eventually, though, he tired of stabbing the ground, and then he looked to me, and to the woman, and I saw an anger in him that made me back away. He seemed to sense my fear, and he held his sword out, approaching us menacingly. I backed away, trying to call out for help, or to warn the woman, but my mouth wouldn’t open.

I woke from the dream, just before he reached me, but not in fear. Instead, for the first time since Rogwallow, I understood exactly what I needed to do. This place, Eoferwic, had run its course. I needed to leave, to follow the path God set out for me, the path to what these people in my dream represented.

I just had to figure out where that path led.

*****

With morning came All Saints Day, and our preparations began in earnest.

We didn’t expect a large number of important people this year. The King was not in the city, and neither were most of his warriors. The King’s nephew, Bardic, stayed behind to lead the city guard, and he would no doubt be on hand along with plenty of wives, children and servants, but the absence of most of the city’s leaders made the upcoming ceremonies feel lacking.

Eadwyn didn’t let that bother him, though. With Rothward still away on his extended trip, it fell to Eadwyn to handle most of his duties, and he’d tackled them with enthusiasm. Eadwyn, Oslac and I wore white robes, freshly cleaned, and Oslac grumbled about it the entire morning, complaining that they itched. I suspected he was just irritable from getting back so late last night after preaching against the festivals. Either that, or he'd missed out on finding any naked women dancing in the woods. Cerdic, Brant and the other boys were also cleaned and properly dressed, so that they could act as altar servers, carrying candles, incense or other items for the priests during Eadwyn’s Mass.

As dawn broke, we set out candles on the altar and the railings separating the benches from the standing areas at the sides, where I heard Eadwyn reciting his sermon to himself. “We mention those who have fallen asleep: first the patriarchs, prophets, apostles, and martyrs, that through their prayers and supplications God would receive our petition...” He would be giving parts of it in Latin and parts in English, which I thought a wise decision. Quite a few of the poor had already gathered outside, hoping for alms or food, but the doors stayed closed until the church was ready. Once the bells began to toll, people, mostly women and children, arrived at the church in a steady drove. Eadywn stayed near the back, diligently readying his sermons, while I greeted our visitors near the front along with Deaga, who seemed to know who the unruly children were, and gave them a stern warning to mind their manners today.