The Fragile Fall At Tallow Bridge (The White Blood Chronicles Book 1) (19 page)

“ No further,” warned the alchemist. “ I wish you no harm but if you advance I will throw this and you will burn as if a dragon had unleashed its flames against you. Understand?”

Thaindire nodded.

“ You may leave by the back door. Do not threaten my helpers or me otherwise you will not be met with the tolerance that I have shown towards you this night.”

Thaindire stared at the fizzing light and having already been on the receiving end of one of the alchemist’s tricks, which had temporarily blinded him, he did not doubt the efficacy of the alchemist’s words.

“ Very well Grimoult, but know this, despite your protestations of innocent enquiry and experimentation you are straying from the One True God’s path and you shall account for your action,” he said..

“ Leave,” growled the alchemist. Thaindire turned and made promptly for the back door, slipping the bolt and turning the key as he had done previously and away he went out into the cold of the night.

              He rounded the corner of the alchemist’s home noting that the ground now bore the glistening after effect of the frost’s caress. His breath clouded before him as he slowly walked around to the front of the house and the start of the strip of trees, which led to the east and the road out of the village. Thaindire could see across the square the well-lit tavern and the sound of revelry drifted across the still air towards him. He had no desire to return there, having to fend off the amorous attentions of Kathryn and who knew whom else and he feared given his mood that violence would ensue. He looked westwards and pondered attending on the Captain who had extended an invitation earlier but he had had his fill of the sanctimonious speech of the alchemist and therefore was loath to endure a similar lecture from the condescending soldier.

              Instead he looked towards the four sturdy constructions, which amounted to the first four properties on the southern side on entrance to the village. They had their own lane in front of them, then a strip of trees and the square beyond. He could see that the two-storey houses were made from timber and stone and amounted to a quality on a par with the house where he had seen his doppelganger. Each house had a lantern hanging from a small porch, which overhung the front door, the yellow light forming a pool of welcoming light. He could not, however, see any other light about the homes for their shutters were closed. Thaindire approached the first property and bounded up the stone steps to the door. There was a polished plaque beside the door, which read,

“ Ariel Ignis.” He rapped on the door and waited. Nothing. He tried again, banging more loudly this time. Only silence greeted him. Puzzled he headed to the second house, which also bore a plaque that announced,

“ Barachiel Impes.”

This time Thaindire used the pommel of his sword to batter on the firm timber of the door, the sound echoing beyond, yet it failed to rouse anyone to answer the door.

The third property declared

“ Cassiel Mulciber,” on its plaque. Yet despite the presence of a well-lit lantern there was nobody in attendance. With neither hope nor expectation, Thaindire made his way up the steps of the last property. This was a little smaller than the previous three and marked the edge of the village before the dark of the forest beyond. Its plaque read,

“ Dumah Incednium.” He hammered three times but Dumah Incendium did not appear. Disappointed, Thaindire traipsed down the steps and stood back regarding the properties. Was he being watched and the inhabitants were choosing to ignore him or were they cavorting in the tavern along with the majority of the village? Either way he was no closer to learning who resided in these fine dwellings and he walked along the short lane, back to the square. Thaindire meandered over to the well and leant on the stone wall staring down into the darkness below. Why would the homunculus go down into the well? He had not got a straight answer from the alchemist and was now unlikely to do so. He queried whether anything the alchemist had told him was true or merely a ruse to keep Thaindire occupied until the tiny man awoke and gave Grimoult a chance to blind Thaindire and thus bring about his ejection from the house. The square glimmered, the moonlight glinting off the frost, which was growing thicker, and Thaindire shivered. He was unlikely to learn anything this eventful day and with a sigh he walked towards the tavern, determined to head to his bed and after his prayers seek sleep and the rest of the just.

“ Samael, wake up,” urged a soft voice.

“ What, what is it?” groaned Thaindire feeling a hand shaking him.

“ Time to get up,” entreated the voice. He opened his eyes and saw Kathryn peering over him. By the Order, had she come to pester him again to couple with her? He shrank back from her wincing as he bumped his back against the far wall of the room.

“ Come now my love, time to rise,” she encouraged. He lay there, eyes blinking awake as he realised it was not the middle of the night but by the brighter light that filled the room it was the following day. He had had another fitful night, the lump on his lower back interrupting his sleep every time that he turned over. He had sworn that it was getting larger. He rubbed a hand across his face and then hauled himself up into a sitting position. Thaindire became aware of the incessant chiming of the church bell, faster than usual.

“ Here,” said Kathryn, “ your medicine.”

She held out the small bottle of tincture and Thaindire took it swallowing the contents in one go, coughing as the burn rose in his chest again. He handed the empty bottle back to Kathryn who looked vastly different from the wanton woman that had sought to snare him in her bedroom. She was wearing a plain light blue dress, which ran from floor to collar and thus hid her comely attractions. A dark blue shawl was wrapped about her shoulders and she also wore a bonnet on her head.

“ Best be quick sleepyhead, you have slept in,” she explained. “ I will wait on the landing for you,” she gave a smile and left the room. Thaindire was slightly confused. Gone was her flirtatious manner and also he noticed there was an absence of the perfume that she usually wore, in fact he detected no fragrance at all. He emerged from the bedclothes and gave a sharp intake of breath as the cold of the morning hit him. Promptly he walked across the bedroom floor and dressed, all the while the church bell continuing to toll. He hauled on his boots, his back protesting as he bent, picked up his sword and fastened his cloak about him before entering onto the landing. Kathryn and he headed downstairs and as they reached the lower landing, Lancaster exited his room dressed in his customary fine attire, albeit in a more austere dark blue.

“ Good morning,” he greeted, showing no embarrassment or even recognition of when he had last seen Thaindire.

“ Good morning,” replied Kathryn and Thaindire in unison and they followed Lancaster down the stairs, through the empty bar and out onto the square.

“ Where are we going?” asked Thaindire as his boots stepped onto the still frosted cobbles. The sky was a clear, brilliant blue above him and the cold air pinched his face.

“ Why church of course, it is Sunday,” remarked Kathryn.

Thaindire almost spluttered in surprise given the debauchery that he had witnessed and the wanton behaviour of Kathryn. She appeared not to notice his reaction as she pressed on along the square, her arm slipped through his. Other villagers were appearing from doorways and the alleyways, a throng of people walking towards the bridge, the call of the church bell beckoning them. They levelled with Reznik’s house and he saw the Captain, clad in his uniform as usual, stood on his porch, watching the passers by as he sucked on his pipe, swirls of blue-grey smoke eddying into the air.

“ Morning Master Thaindire,” he called with a nod of his head.

“ Captain Reznik,” responded Thaindire, “ Are you not joining us at worship?” he asked.

“ My religion is right here,” responded Reznik patting the scabbarded sabre that dangled from his belt.

The crowd made its way past the bakery and apothecary until it reached the bridge and there was the low murmur of conversation. The villagers dutifully making their way to the church on the hill ahead. Kathryn said little other than to greet other villagers as they picked their way through the mass of worshippers. Past the bridge, they drew alongside the gibbet, which was thankfully still. Try as he might, Thaindire could not ignore the corpse, as it remained wedged in the cage, the broken sword still on display.

“ Who is that?” he asked of Kathryn with a jut of his chin towards the macabre monument.

“ A stranger. He came to the village earlier this year. He stayed at the inn, I cannot remember his name. Father might. Anyway, despite his friendliness and general kind demeanour it turned out he was a shape changer,” she whispered leaning into Thaindire.

“ A shape changer?” asked Thaindire.

“ Yes, he took on the shape of a wolf and had Beatrice Mallory cornered when thankfully two trappers were returning from the woods and stood their ground against the beast. It went for them but a mighty blow from their axes cut the creature in two leaving it writhing on the floor in agony, its howling could be heard all across the village. The trappers went to Miss Mallory who was cowering in the corner of the yard and when they turned back towards the beast it had become man once again, chopped into two pieces through its middle and breaking the sword he carried. So, they put the body in there with its sword as a warning to other dark creatures to stay away from the village,” she finished eyes wide, “ How I am glad it was not me,” she confessed.

Thaindire looked over at the cage and its contents and then away. Kathryn was adamant in her explanation but it did not sit comfortably for him.

They walked on, the road narrowed as it sloped upwards, the crowd pushed together.

“ Who are the trappers?” asked Thaindire.

“ Why?”

“ I would like to speak to them,” he replied.

“ Oh. Thomas Harlech and Ryddian Greenwood,” answered Kathryn.

“ Do they still live in the village?”

“ Of course. Nobody leaves Aftlain,” she replied.

“ What do you mean by that?” challenged Thaindire.

“ Exactly what I said, nobody leaves the village.”

“ That’s ridiculous, your father leaves the village or how else did he find me on the road.,”he pointed out.

“ Well yes he leaves to sell his wares, some of the other villagers do as well, but they always return here. What I meant was that there is no reason to come to Aftlain other than to be in Aftlain. You do not pass through; you do not dally on your way to somewhere else. You come here to stay here, why would you not. We have everything that anyone could want here so as I said, once you come here, you don’t leave.”

“ I see,” answered Thaindire wondering if there was anything more sinister to her assertion.

Together they passed through the stone archway into the churchyard, the church bell loud and clanging, a snaking line of villagers leading from the gate to the church door.

Thaindire saw the mound of earth where the gravedigger had been working. The soil was hardened and coated in frost. A raven alighted on the mound of earth and began to caw at the passing villagers until it became bored and it wheeled away to the trees on the churchyard perimeter. The gravedigger was nowhere to be seen. A man dressed in a dark grey cassock was greeting the villagers as they climbed the steps to the church and entered the church door. It was not Campion but an older man, with straggles of grey hair growing away from a balding pate. He gripped the hand of each villager bidding them welcome until he came to Kathryn.

“ A warm welcome Miss Kathryn,” he smiled.

“ Verger,” she answered.

“ Ah and to you also Master Thaindire, always a pleasure to have new blood join us,” he smiled and tilted his head in a gesture of respect. Thaindire shook his hand and ducked under the beam of the church arch and entered the cold recesses of the village’s church.

              Thaindire was greeted by a beautiful voice that rose upwards to the vaulted roof of the church. At the front of the church in front of the altar stood a youth singing, accompanied by three musicians who sat behind him. The sweet voice climbed and fell; echoing as it soared creating an otherworldly effect, which Thaindire noticed, had caused the congregation to sit in rapt attention. Kathryn tugged on his sleeve and he slipped in beside her on a wooden pew. Thaindire knelt and whispered a short prayer as the singing continued. He found the serenade captivating and stillness settled about him, a calm that he had not experienced for some time and certainly not since he had been in the village. Thaindire observed his surroundings, recalling from his last visit that it was a larger church than one would expect for a village the size of Aftlain. The stonewalls climbed high, the pale light of the sun filtering through the stained glass windows, depicting various deeds of saints and so forth. Thaindire spotted Benjamin Dromgoole sat a few rows in front, a woman leaning into him, presumably Alyce Dromgoole. Thaindire curled his lip at the rank hypocrisy of a man who allowed such debauchery to occur unchecked within his tavern and yet here he was at worship as if nothing untoward had ever happened. He spied the smith; his large frame standing out from the other villagers that he was sat amongst, his head bowed, exposing the thick neck. Turning, he noticed the girl that had been embracing Campion was sat on the pew opposite from him. She leant forward and looked across at Thaindire. Their gaze met and she whispered a “hello” to him with those lips, which had been locked in a sinful embrace, before smiling and then sitting back. Thaindire shook his head at her brazen attendance.

              He heard the sound of the door closing and the verger strolled past him down the central aisle, his cassock sweeping the stone flagged floor behind him. The music and singing slowly faded up into the heights of the church and then Campion emerged from the right hand side, behind the altar. He nodded and smiled as in silence he walked across to the pulpit and ascended the few steps to appear looming over the waiting congregation. His eager eyes swept across the assembled villagers as if he was checking that everyone who should be there was indeed in attendance and then satisfied he placed two hands on the pulpit walls.

“ A good morning to you my blessed brethren,” he announced his rich, deep voice carrying across the church.

“ And a good morning to you our blessed father,” responded the congregation.

“ We shall begin with the hymn, ‘ O Bountiful Land’.” Thaindire gave a frown not recognising it. No hymn sheets had been handed out and as the musician struck up, the congregation rose and began to sing. Everyone around him knew the words and sang with enthusiasm verse after verse about the riches provided by the land of Albion. Thaindire shifted uneasily, feeling somewhat embarrassed not to be joining in. He was aware of Kathryn swaying as she sang, her own voice, melodic and soft, clear beside him. The final notes drifted away and the congregation sat down once again, the occasional cough amongst the shuffling of feet and clothing.  Campion remained standing in the pulpit, his eyes gleamed and his mouth was formed in an evangelical smile as he towered over the congregation.

“ On this, the first Sunday of Massentide we have been visited by the first frost. I am sure you will agree that the village looked especially beautiful this morning coated by the white as you walked up the hill. I must admit, I rose early and walked in the churchyard marvelling at the all-encompassing frost, laying its protective cloak across our village and beyond. Are we not blessed in the many ways that the One True God chooses to portray our village from season to season?” asked Campion. A low murmur of assent came from the villagers.

“ So with the first frost arrived it is entirely appropriate that I read from the Book, the Lesson of the White Shroud.” He glanced down and carefully opened a thick volume, smoothing down the pages before looking up again and smiling once more.

“ Pierce ye not the land, for it shall not yield. Look not to its womb, for that is now barren. The deep warmth forsaken. Seek ye not to drive thy tool into the flesh of the land, for it does not seek your union. Ye have feasted long upon the sweet, sweet offerings and it is time to look elsewhere,” boomed Campion. He read slowly, relishing each word as if he tasted them, his sentences cascading across the assembly. Thaindire did not recognise the reading. He was the first to admit that he was not a keen scholar of the Lessons of Nurture and the balance of its contents had not invaded his consciousness to the same extent as the Lessons of Judgement had. Still, there was no shame in that for it was by those latter Lessons that he acted and abided by. He mused to himself that if he were to look upon the priest’s copy of the Book that the Lessons of Judgment, Humility and Stricture would be most likely torn out as he saw little evidence of their influence in Aftlain. Indeed, he half expected the priest not to read from the Book at all but rather preach from some ungodly text.

              Campion concluded the Lesson of the White Shroud, which to Thaindire’s mind was preoccupied with fertility and the creation of life and a second hymn was sung. Again Thaindire found himself listening, standing out from the congregation as they all knew the words to the hymn and he had never heard of it. Everyone sat once again and Campion stood in silence, regarding the villagers. Thaindire wondered what he was looking for as the priest’s gaze swept over the villagers.

“ And now Giraudus will read this week’s notices,” declared Campion. The verger rose and from between the two massed rows of pews he turned to face the congregation and carefully read from a parchment he held in his hand.  Thaindire listened as he learned that there was to be a funeral on the Wednesday, somebody called Alouicious Crane having passed away, that there was a meeting on Thursday evening at the tavern to make preparations for the Feast of Maydrey and that the Hayward, Saer Harcourt would be available at the church on Friday to discuss the repairs that needed to be effected to the fencing on the outskirts of the village. The verger returned to his pew and Campion commenced his sermon.