The cauldron effect, p.19
The Cauldron Effect, page 19
Alaster recalled Bartos practically sitting on top of Farfur to keep the impulsive young hound from racing foolishly to Dewer’s aid. He’d wondered at the other hound’s protective gesture until he realized if Bartos hadn’t done that, Farfur might have given away their location. “You should know better than to bring up that disaster.”
“Why can the master not let sleeping hounds lie?” Farfur asked in a mournful voice, completely unmindful of Alaster’s warning about staying off this dangerous topic.
“Can you hear what any of the witches are saying?” Alaster asked to change the subject.
“Not a word.”
“I hope we find the boy soon,” Alaster continued. “The master’s foul mood has worsened since we lost Trystan’s trail at the church.”
“That was not my fault,” Farfur was quick to point out.
Alaster had forgotten how sensitive his companion was on this subject. He swallowed his sigh as Farfur carried on with his usual defense.
“One minute, I had the boy’s leg clamped between my jaws. The next, he’d vanished.” Farfur paused to breath and then asked, “Alaster, if the Fishguard witch didn’t take him, who did?”
“We’d better find out. If we fail to retrieve Trystan again, Sax will be the least of our problems.”
ONCE OUTSIDE DEWER’S tower, Merryn gestured to the witches that they were leaving. The chanting died, submerging the surroundings in utter silence and darkness.
She raised her torch and said, “Light.” The torch flamed and painted the witches with golden strokes.
Braden accepted her torch and held it higher. “Will you lead the way? Use your magic to find the easiest route down.”
Merryn gave him a startled look. He encouraged her to use magic? A change indeed from the church guard who once insisted all magic came from the dark side. Hiding a satisfied smile, she strode forward.
Braden followed at her heels, for there was little room for two to walk side-by-side. A glance back showed, one after another, each witch raised her hand. Torches appeared in their grips and were lit. The group descended Black Mountain in a line of fire.
“They’re an impressive sight,” Braden murmured. “As was Dewer’s exertion of power tonight.”
Merryn frowned, not caring for the comparison of witch to warlock, yet they were one people, from one world. “Warlocks are a law unto themselves,” she murmured, feeling a burning need to differentiate between the sexes.
“Yet some witches are drawn to them. Trystan is an example of such a union. As are you.”
“What are you implying, my lord?”
“Merely that you are one people.”
She shuddered at how his words mimicked her thoughts. She didn’t care for the direction of this conversation. It skirted their recent argument.
As much as she would like to deny it, Braden had been right about one thing. Dewer did indeed seem genuinely taken with her. His partiality had been most obvious in his reaction to Braden.
The look shared between the two men had vibrated with mutual antagonism. They had acted male and predatory, like stags fighting over a doe. As if this doe had no choice whom she would choose as her mate. Perhaps she’d choose neither. Right now, that choice appealed.
They reached the place where Braden had left his horse and he gave her the torch while he fetched his mount.
He returned with the handsome black stallion trotting obediently behind him. Instead of taking the torch back, he took her hand. A warm clasp that left her feeling cherished and cared for. After a night of fear and anger, recriminations and terror, the tender gesture brought tears to her eyes. She glanced away, blinking to be rid of them before he noticed how vulnerable she became to his every touch.
They traveled in companionable silence down the mountainside until Braden said, “I wonder about the warlocks.”
Her shoulders tensed again. “What about them?”
“Are they all truly evil?”
“They show little conscience about practicing mind magic which subverts a person’s free will, both on humans and their own children. Some, like Dewer, delve into the dark arts by summoning demons and other creatures from the underworld. If they aren’t evil, they are at the very least dangerous.”
Reluctantly, she added, “Some witches have been known to dabble in the dark arts as well. The high sage forbids such activities. Part of my duty as Coven Protectress is to stop such users by whatever means necessary.”
“Do the warlocks police their members in a similar way?”
Again, though hesitant to give warlocks any credit, she had to nod in agreement. “They purport to. Though they’ve done nothing to stop Dewer other than banish him from the warlock community.”
He gave her a considering glance. “Is it possible witches have misjudged warlocks?”
“Even if he didn’t set the fire, Mattock did nothing to interfere in the burning of the Fishguard coven,” Merryn said with vehemence. “Those witches could have died if we hadn’t arrived in time.” She paused to allow her indignation to settle. “Warlocks may not be evil, but neither can they be trusted.”
“You’ve told me how the events at Bedfordshire helped shape how witches behave. Is it not possible warlocks, too, learnt lessons from that shared tragedy?”
“No!” Merryn replied and then sighed, thinking of her father. “Possibly one or two, but the majority are still bad. Why pursue this line of questioning?”
He shrugged as if reluctant to bring up what was truly on his mind. “Something I heard inside the tower troubles me. You will not like hearing it.”
Tight-lipped, Merryn trod on. She hadn’t liked most of their conversation this night, and he had something worse? What? That Dewer might not be as evil as she knew him to be?
“You cannot possibly think to defend Dewer,” she said as a statement, not a question. “He just admitted to setting a house full of witches on fire.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Then?”
The silence lasted for ten steps.
“Then?” she prodded, wanting to hear his insight.
“Then, if he’s willing to admit to that villainy, why bother denying he harmed your brother?”
She flung his hand away. Her whole body ran cold and hot and cold again. The torch shook in her hold, fluttering the flames. “You do not know what you speak of, my lord.”
“No,” he admitted in a gentle voice, “but you were, what, thirteen, and not present for the crime. Are you so certain you know what happened?”
Merryn refused to speak to Braden again, marching ahead, practically running down the mountainside. Every step fed her fury as her mind replayed the horrible moment when her aunt broke the news of her parents’ and her brother’s deaths at Dewer’s hands. Did Braden think the high sage would have lied about the event?
On and on, her mind ran in recriminations. She barged into the stables and went to the stall at the far end that she’d claimed as hers. The half door slammed behind her. She got rid of the torch and sat in a dark corner.
In time, her furious thoughts slowed and rearranged themselves. Braden was wrong. His misconceptions could easily be corrected. She simply had to get him to speak to her aunt.
For now, she wanted to do some scrying. First, she checked on the whereabouts of the church guards and Mattock and finally on Dewer. What she discovered had her heart hammering in terror.
Trystan’s father led the church guards down to Callington. Dewer’s whereabouts were shielded, which frightened her the most.
No more time for dithering. Since she was in southern Wales, she gauged she had a head start. If she left at first light, she and her group could arrive in Callington ahead of the guards and the warlocks.
In the meantime, her aunt must be warned.
She sat cross-legged and shook her wrist until a quill appeared and on her lap a little table with sheets of paper and a lighted candle. In order, she listed all that she wanted her aunt to do to waylay the trouble approaching beleaguered Callington.
When she was done, a good hour later, the stable was silent. The central ceiling light was reduced to just enough illumination for her dark-adjusted eyes to see by.
She stepped closer to the loft and called up, “Braden!”
Several witches sat up, murmuring sleepily. Nearby, a horse neighed.
A scuffle sounded above and Braden leaned over to shoot her an infuriating smile. “Are we on speaking terms again, Miss Pendraven?”
She took a deep breath to level her voice, so she would sound encouraging instead of murderous. She wanted him down here to hear what had happened to her brother. She'd see then if he remained so enchanted by Dewer. “I’m summoning my aunt. I beg you to attend.”
“Now?”
Was that a note of alarm in his voice? Good! “Now.”
Back inside her stall, the place shrank in size as Braden entered behind her. “Those lighted candles on the floor look dangerous,” he said, nonchalantly leaning against the door.
“Their fire will never spread. This may take a while, as I have much to discuss with my aunt before we speak about Dewer.”
“Such as?”
“I plan to seek her help with the archbishop’s condition.”
“Excellent.” He pulled out a sealed missive. “This urges His Grace to go to Callington, but I’m uncertain he will receive it before trouble strikes there.”
“I can help with that.” She took the letter and with a flick of her hand it vanished. “Consider the letter delivered.”
He shook his head in amazement. “Just as well you and your kind remain in hiding, Merryn, for the Royal Mail could not compete with such speed.”
“There are many reasons why we keep our presence among humans a secret,” Merryn said. “However, our current troubles have made me reconsider the wisdom of that course of action.”
“I’ve been thinking along those lines, too,” Braden said with a frown. “In London, the idea of your presence would cause widespread panic. However, in Cornwall, where your coven is established, and even in Wales, your presence might already be suspected, if not widely known.”
Merryn considered that suggestion, recalling Lady Hancock’s conversation in the carriage ride from Exeter to Callington. The lady had relayed much to Braden about Merryn’s activities over the years. More than she’d given the woman credit for knowing. The lady also believed in the fae. The witches of Callington might have underestimated Lady Hancock, and perhaps other neighbors.
With a nod, she came to a daring decision. Stepping over the circle of candles, she sat on the straw covered floor at the center. “My aunt will be unaware you’re here until I invite you into the circle, so kindly remain by the door.”
At his nod, she recited the words of summoning. She’d barely finished before her aunt’s face appeared before her. She blinked in surprise at the swiftness of the response.
“You’re alive!” Aunt Morwena said.
“Blessed be, Aunt.” Merryn held out her offering of a strand of sweet blackberries.
Her aunt heaved a sigh of relief, holding her hand to her heart and looking as if she were about to burst into tears. It was a moment before she pulled herself together and remembered to complete the ritual of exchanging gifts.
“Blessed be, indeed, child.” She offered Merryn a rowan leaf. “I have followed your adventures, including your perilous confrontation of Dewer, though I couldn’t see anything after you went inside his tower. Shortly after, the whole mountain became shrouded from my scrying. I feared you’d died.”
“I did not. Thanks in part to the Fishguard witches’ assistance and to Lord Braden’s help.”
“You have grown closer to this churchman.”
Merryn gave a grinning Braden a dark side look. “Distance is a relative thing.”
Seeing the speculation in her aunt’s eyes, Merryn wondered how much her aunt’s scrying had told her. Remembering Braden’s kisses, a faint blush heated her cheeks.
“As grateful as I am to see you survived your encounter with Dewer, I must ask, why have you summoned me?”
“I’ve a number of requests to make. First, I need a healer willing to work on the Archbishop of Canterbury. We suspect that he, as well as a group of church guards, is under a warlock mind influence spell. Lord Braden says they would never have allowed the coven in Fishguard to burn with people inside. If so, they, too, will need help to be freed from warlock influence. Finally, please arrange for a protection circle around Saint Agatha’s church.”
“Why? Trystan isn’t there. Is he?”
“I don’t know where the dratted boy is. Neither does Dewer. However, the church holds the clues we need. I want to speak again with the brownie who lives there. He may know more than he admitted. Saint Agatha, too, could hold the secret to the boy’s whereabouts. We must ensure no one gains access to that church before I return.”
“The whole building?” Aunt Morwena sounded aghast.
“The whole building.”
“How are we to do that? If the coven gathers around the church, it will raise eyebrows and we will become a standing target for the church guards. They are coming.”
“I know. I have a plan.” She outlined her idea and watched Aunt Morwena’s eyes widen with shock.
Finally, her aunt let out a gusty laugh. “You do not ask for much, do you? What if Lady Hancock refuses to help?”
“We tell her the truth,” Merryn said and Braden nodded in approval.
“Have you gone mad?” Aunt Morwena asked.
“We have lived in Cornwall for centuries," Merryn said, “believing our secret safe from discovery. I think we’ve misjudged our neighbors’ knowledge on the matter, certainly in Callington. Tell Lady Hancock who we are, that we’re trying to save Trystan. I believe she will do all in her power to help. Even to the extent of gaining the assistance of others of her acquaintance to protect us from the church guards.”
“Merryn, even if the people of Callington were willing to help witches guard the church, which is a stretch by any consideration, they are human. They have no power to defend themselves against magic, and we’re sworn to protect them.”
“We cannot win this fight alone. We need to call on all allies, both magical and human. I intend to send a pixie to speak to her queen. She belongs to the y tylwyth teg group of fae. They, too, are guardians of this region and I hope they will lend us their assistance.”
“Absolutely not!”
“Aunt....”
“Leave the light fae out of this, Merryn. It will only draw more trouble toward us.”
“I’ve formed a connection to them through Cri, the pixie. I’m sure I can persuade them to help us.”
“No. The y tylwyth teg will not help us. However, I will do as you ask regarding the rest.” Her aunt spoke quickly, as if she wished to get off the topic of fae as quickly as possible. “I pray your plan works, else we put the very souls it is our duty to protect in the gravest danger.”
Merryn suppressed a shudder at her aunt’s words. “There’s one more thing we must speak about, Aunt. I’m not alone.” She gestured for Braden to step into the circle.
He did so, kneeling beside her and bowing his head in greeting to the older woman.
“Aunt, this is Thomas Drake Saint-Clair, Earl of Braden. Lord Braden, this is my aunt, Morwena Dunstan, High Sage of Britain.”
Her aunt let out a hissed breath, rearing back as if she’d been betrayed.
“He’s aware of who I am, who we are, our history,” Merryn said. “On behalf of the king, he has offered us welcome to Britain, and to this planet.”
Aunt Morwena’s angry gaze went from her to Braden and returned with a deep furrow on her brow. “Why did you summon me in the presence of a church guard?”
“I need you to tell him what happened to my brother and my parents. Dewer denies killing Jonas. I need you to convince Lord Braden that Dewer is a liar. His lordship has doubts that need quelling.”
“You appear to be uncannily perceptive, Lord Braden,” Aunt Morwena said, wearing a frown.
“On this issue, I take no credit, my lady. I was advised that if I listened, I would hear something of import inside the Black Tower. It is merely my presumption that Dewer’s denial was that information.”
“By whom?” Merryn asked. “Who told you to listen?”
He shrugged, not replying.
Aunt Morwena’s frown wavered and then faltered, her eyes widening. “It is as you supposed, Merryn.” She sounding awed. “His God speaks to him.”
“Why would the Maker lie to him?”
“Take care how you speak of the deity, young lady!”
Merryn folded her arms, doubt creeping into her heart like a pestilence. She desperately wanted this issue resolved. Now. The answer was simple. Wasn’t it? A feverish heat swept through her body, making sweat bead on her forehead.
“Dewer murdered my brother. You said so, Aunt.” The words came out more of a question than she cared for.
“I said Jonas died after he tried to escape from Dewer.” Aunt Morwena sighed, more worrisome was her avoiding Merryn’s direct gaze. “In doing so, the boy pulled himself out of that fiend’s protection and put himself in far greater danger.”
“From whom?”
Aunt Morwena twirled the twig of berries in her hand, studying the shadows between the globules as if the words she sought were hidden within that darkness.
“From whom?” Merryn’s heart pounded so loud Braden and her aunt must surely hear it.
Her aunt set the berries on the ground. She’d come to a decision. “It’s best if you remain ignorant for now. That is the safest course, Merryn.”
“Aunt!”
“You are too close to Dewer’s domain for this conversation. I will not risk losing you.”
“But, Aunt...”
“When you return to Callington, where I can better protect you, I will tell you everything. Blessed be, Merryn Pendraven.” With a swipe of her hand, her aunt departed.
