soon.”
Maere closed her eyes tightly and covered them with her fists. She began to sob as the face dissolved from sight. “Oh dear God, am I going mad? What evil is this that haunts me?” She fell forward, prostrate on the compacted dirt floor, her body shaking as she cried uncontrollably. “I beg you, Mother so blessed. Please. Please. Intercede for me. Have mercy on my immortal soul.”
Chapter Six
Dylan looked out into the distance as he walked, taking note of a pillar of smoke rising from the next hillock beyond his vision. It twisted and drifted on the wind, suddenly filling the air with the stench of burning animal flesh. A noise up the road sent him a few steps into the tree line. The fire meant one of two things: Either the farmer had diseased livestock, or those Norse scavengers had been through here recently.
The sound of clopping horse’s hooves, mixed with intermittent curses, reached Dylan’s ears and he quickly stepped deeper into the cover of the forest. He watched in stunned silence as a group of Vikings rode by, dragging prisoners behind them. A few older men, a young woman, and several children were joined with ropes tied from wrist-to-wrist, the lead held tight by one of the riders. They came from the direction he was headed.
Fear grabbed him. Had the abbey been raided? There was no way to know, but he wouldn’t see his journey to Maere delayed even a moment longer. The strong oaks and pliable willows parted their branches as he entered their shared world, dipping low and brushing away his footprints as he passed. A chance encounter with anyone could prove a problem that would serve to keep him from his betrothed. And ten years had been long enough to wait.
Truth be told, if any Vikings came upon him, they probably wouldn’t be interested, lone poor traveler that he was. He had nothing to steal, but there was always the chance he might be taken as a slave. Most he might meet would be simple folks, pious pilgrims on a journey of faith, much too eager in their zeal to convert him to the new religion. Dylan snorted. This Christianity was surely a scourge on the land just as powerful as those raiders from the north.
It baffled him that his countrymen could lose the faith of their forebears so easily, that they could come to believe one god was able to care for this entire world. As vast as it was, it seemed too large an endeavor for one deity. The old ways made much more sense to Dylan, with a particular god or goddess assigned to a specific duty. At least then one knew whom to pray to, who to ask for what you needed.
Take Morrigu, he thought. If he were going into battle he most definitely would ask The Morrigan for assistance.
A full round breast came to mind.
Associated with water, she was sometimes responsible for rebirth or new beginnings as well.
A slim pale leg.
Long raven hair.
And he had certainly been reborn under her tutelage.
Dylan leaned against a tall willow, its long thin branches dusting the forest floor around him. He closed his eyes and pushed thoughts of the goddess away. He needed to focus on Maere now. It was nearly the beginning of her eighteenth year and Eugis would be on his way to retrieve her. Ripe she’d be for the taking, and her uncle wouldn’t hesitate, intent on ripping her power from her.
Keltoi legends spoke of a girl born under the triple signs of the goddess, a girl who would carry with her the great power of healing. And Dylan had been there to see the signs with his very own eyes, that cold night so long ago, when Manfred held Maere out to him.
Dylan touched the willow and smiled, remembering how she hunted the fays, those little people of the hills and woods, intent on catching a glimpse of their small forms. It seemed an entire lifetime had come and gone since they’d played in the forest as children. Full of mischief she had been, much like those same fays she sought.
“Psst!” Maere had half whispered, half shouted for him. “Dylan!
He
Maere closed her eyes tightly and covered them with her fists. She began to sob as the face dissolved from sight. “Oh dear God, am I going mad? What evil is this that haunts me?” She fell forward, prostrate on the compacted dirt floor, her body shaking as she cried uncontrollably. “I beg you, Mother so blessed. Please. Please. Intercede for me. Have mercy on my immortal soul.”
Chapter Six
Dylan looked out into the distance as he walked, taking note of a pillar of smoke rising from the next hillock beyond his vision. It twisted and drifted on the wind, suddenly filling the air with the stench of burning animal flesh. A noise up the road sent him a few steps into the tree line. The fire meant one of two things: Either the farmer had diseased livestock, or those Norse scavengers had been through here recently.
The sound of clopping horse’s hooves, mixed with intermittent curses, reached Dylan’s ears and he quickly stepped deeper into the cover of the forest. He watched in stunned silence as a group of Vikings rode by, dragging prisoners behind them. A few older men, a young woman, and several children were joined with ropes tied from wrist-to-wrist, the lead held tight by one of the riders. They came from the direction he was headed.
Fear grabbed him. Had the abbey been raided? There was no way to know, but he wouldn’t see his journey to Maere delayed even a moment longer. The strong oaks and pliable willows parted their branches as he entered their shared world, dipping low and brushing away his footprints as he passed. A chance encounter with anyone could prove a problem that would serve to keep him from his betrothed. And ten years had been long enough to wait.
Truth be told, if any Vikings came upon him, they probably wouldn’t be interested, lone poor traveler that he was. He had nothing to steal, but there was always the chance he might be taken as a slave. Most he might meet would be simple folks, pious pilgrims on a journey of faith, much too eager in their zeal to convert him to the new religion. Dylan snorted. This Christianity was surely a scourge on the land just as powerful as those raiders from the north.
It baffled him that his countrymen could lose the faith of their forebears so easily, that they could come to believe one god was able to care for this entire world. As vast as it was, it seemed too large an endeavor for one deity. The old ways made much more sense to Dylan, with a particular god or goddess assigned to a specific duty. At least then one knew whom to pray to, who to ask for what you needed.
Take Morrigu, he thought. If he were going into battle he most definitely would ask The Morrigan for assistance.
A full round breast came to mind.
Associated with water, she was sometimes responsible for rebirth or new beginnings as well.
A slim pale leg.
Long raven hair.
And he had certainly been reborn under her tutelage.
Dylan leaned against a tall willow, its long thin branches dusting the forest floor around him. He closed his eyes and pushed thoughts of the goddess away. He needed to focus on Maere now. It was nearly the beginning of her eighteenth year and Eugis would be on his way to retrieve her. Ripe she’d be for the taking, and her uncle wouldn’t hesitate, intent on ripping her power from her.
Keltoi legends spoke of a girl born under the triple signs of the goddess, a girl who would carry with her the great power of healing. And Dylan had been there to see the signs with his very own eyes, that cold night so long ago, when Manfred held Maere out to him.
Dylan touched the willow and smiled, remembering how she hunted the fays, those little people of the hills and woods, intent on catching a glimpse of their small forms. It seemed an entire lifetime had come and gone since they’d played in the forest as children. Full of mischief she had been, much like those same fays she sought.
“Psst!” Maere had half whispered, half shouted for him. “Dylan!
He
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