Air: Merlin's Chalice (The Children of Avalon Book 1) (5 page)

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t, with my throat so constricted, so I just nodded.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that now. I’m certainly not going to turn you in. And as I said, you’re not a witch, even if you can move the sword.”

“But then how could I…?” I shook my head. This was all very confusing. “Perhaps you wouldn’t tell anyone, but what if someone else…”

The knight looked around at the empty forest that surrounded us. “No one here.” He then gave me a little smile. “Come now, just for the fun of it, give it a try.”

I looked again at the sword. What
could
it hurt? asked a little voice in the back of my mind. It might be fun being able to move things with just a thought, and it would be good to know what I could and could not do. And, after all, those ravens had sought me out, so I must have some magic in me.

I looked closely at the knight again, but everything he had was on the surface—his gentle laughter and his kind encouragement, clear in even just his body language.

I turned and focused my mind on the sword, and tried to move it. Nothing happened, just as I had expected.

“Oh, come now, try harder. Perhaps if you try it like this.” The knight pointed at the sword with his finger. “You can do this,” he whispered encouragingly.

Raising my arm, I pointed at the sword as he had done. This wouldn’t work. It was silly. But just to humor the old man, I gave it an honest try.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and willed the sword to move. I could feel my fingers grow warm as I imagined it wiggling its way out of the tree and then floating down to rest in the knight’s hands.

“That’s it! Well done, I say, well done. Wot?”

I opened my eyes and staggered backwards, allowing my hand, which was now pointing at the knight, to drop back down to my side. It felt like someone had attached a bale of hay to it, it was so heavy. Luckily, there was another tree directly behind me. I steadied myself against it, suddenly feeling completely drained. The sword was in the man’s hands just as I’d imagined it. A chill ran over me and I pulled my shawl closer around my shoulders.

“I didn’t do that! You pulled it out while my eyes were shut.”

The knight gasped. “I did nothing of the sort. And I take serious offense at your implications.”

“But I didn’t…”

“Yes, you most certainly did.”

Deep in my mind and in my heart, I knew that I had done it, and a very small part of me was happily amazed. But the rest was absolutely and completely terrified. I felt as if I had just proclaimed my own death.

“Now, I thank you, and I think that you might want to sit down for a moment.”

That was definitely the best idea. Already, my legs were buckling under me. I allowed myself to slide down the tree that was supporting me. Had I been walking too much or was it just the excitement of what I’d just done? Whatever it was, my legs were like pudding and my heart was racing.

The knight stood over me with a gentle smile on his face as he formally bowed toward me. “Sir Dagonet at your service,” he said, slipping his sword back into the scabbard attached to his belt.

I tried to stand up again to curtsy properly, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. Sir Dagonet waved my efforts away with a laugh. “Don’t bother to rise, my dear.”

Grateful for his understanding, I said, “My name is Scai.”

“Scai, eh?” he chuckled. “Appropriate, wot, wot?”

“What?”

“I said…er, never mind.” He laughed.

I looked up at Sir Dagonet and couldn’t believe what this kindly old knight had encouraged me to do. The words inadvertently spilled from my mouth. “You’re a witch?”

He looked horrified at the thought. “No, I most certainly am not! I am Vallen,” he said with pride.

“You’re what?”

“Vallen. We are a magical people, you and I.”

“Me? I’m not... ‘Vallen’,” I said. My mind still hadn’t decided if this was all real or just some odd dream.

“You most certainly are. You just did magic, did you not? And you’ve done so before.”

I swallowed hard. What
did
he know? “I’m not a witch!”

“Said you weren’t, didn’t I?” the old knight shook his head. “Vallen, that’s what you are.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Ah! Excellent question. A witch is someone who deals with herbs and potions and uses the magic created by them. Vallen are magical from within.”

“Oh.” Oddly enough, that made sense to me.

“Anyone can learn to be a witch. Vallen are born with magic, wot, wot?”

“And you’re Vallen?”

He nodded. “And so are you.”

“How do you know? Can you tell just by looking at someone?”

The old man laughed. “Oh no. Only the most powerful, and well, I suppose not even them, don’t you know?”

“Then how did you know that I was… one?”

“Oh, well… er, ha!” The man began to laugh. “Feeling better, wot?”

“What?”

“Exactly so!”

My mind was still feeling a bit muddled. I needed to understand this better. “So if you’re not a witch…”

“Most certainly not!” the man interjected.

“Then you’re not afraid of being burned at the stake or swum?”

“Oh, er, that. Well, no, not really,” he admitted.

“Why not? Anyone could easily mistake you for a witch, couldn’t they?”

“Yes, yes, they could. But, well, I’m rather old, don’t you know. I don’t think they’d burn an old man like myself, wot?”

“Oh.” I thought about that. It
did
make sense. They wouldn’t kill an old man—they’d probably have a hard time believing he was a witch or Vallen or whatever. “I wish I were in the same position.”

“What? Being old? It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be,” the knight said, pursing out his lips and huffing a little.

I laughed. This man was funny. But then my very real fears shouldered their way to the front of my mind again. “No. I meant that I wish I didn’t have to worry about being burned at the stake.”

“Oh! Yes, er, well, I wouldn’t worry about it too much, honestly.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Oh, er, I don’t know, really.”

Well, at least he was honest, if not entirely reassuring.

“But still,” he went on, “you shouldn’t worry about it. You just be the best Vallen you can be and you leave all that worrying to… er, well, to others, wot?”

I couldn’t help but laugh again. “But I’m not actually Vallen…”

“Not Vallen? I’m sorry? Didn’t you see what you just did?” he said, pulling at his sword to remind me that I had just removed it from the tree using only my mind.

My face grew warm. “I… I honestly don’t know how I did that. Or, even if I really did do that.”

“What?”

“Well, my eyes were closed,” I began to explain. I really didn’t want to be Vallen or a witch—and not only because I would be burned at the stake if anyone were to find out. Being magical was… different. Frightening.

Sir Dagonet just looked at me with complete disbelief. “Oh, my dear, if you only knew. If you only knew how powerful you were.”

A cool wind tugged at my hair. I pulled my shawl closer around my shoulders. “But…”

“No, no. Let’s not stand here talking of this anymore. We’ve got to get moving. What? Oh, yes, get moving! Can’t linger here too long.”

And with that, he picked up his helmet from the ground and clamped it onto his head. He mounted his horse and then looked down at me. “Well? Coming?”

I didn’t know what he expected me to do, so I just looked up at him.

Finally, he reached down his hand and pointed to his foot. “Just put your foot on mine and climb up. Never done this before?”

“N–no.” I had never ridden a horse in my life.

“Oh, well, it’s easy.” He reached his hand out for mine once more.

I followed his directions and swung myself up behind the knight, straddling the horse. It wasn’t easy or entirely comfortable. My long skirt bunched up around my knees and I wondered how indecent I looked with a good portion of my legs showing for anyone who cared to see. On the other hand, we were riding through the forest and there weren’t very many other people about—none, in fact. So I supposed it was all right.

I nearly fell backwards as the horse began to move forward but saved myself only by grabbing onto Sir Dagonet’s shoulders.

“Off we go, wot, wot?” the knight said cheerfully.

Chapter Seven

F
ather du Lac entered the king’s privy chamber. King Edward was leaning over his table studying some papers. His finger traced lines along the page, but clearly he was not happy with what he saw.

“I beg your pardon, your majesty,” du Lac said quietly.

The king stood up, his intense concentration shattered.

His startled look dissolved into a welcoming smile when he saw Father du Lac hovering by the door. “Father! Come in, come in. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Did you knock?”

“I did, your majesty,” du Lac said, bowing low before his king—the sweet, enthusiastic boy he had watched grow from the time he was born to the day when he was crowned king, less than six months ago. It had been, of course, a bittersweet day for du Lac. He had known and loved the king’s father, the great King Alfred, unifier of these British Isles. But now it was Edward to whom he owed his allegiance.

“And what can I do for you, Father?” Edward asked, strolling casually forward. “Are you ready for that Bishopric I offered you?”

Father du Lac laughed. “No, Sire, I thank you.”

“Ah, then it is land. You have finally come to ask for a piece of land for yourself so that you can enjoy your old age as you should—in comfort.”

“No, you are too kind, truly.” Du Lac raised his hands to dampen the young king’s enthusiasm. He was always trying to get du Lac to take his favors, but honestly, the old priest had no desire for such things, as the king well knew. “I am happy to be in your court, Your Majesty, for as long as you will have me.”

The king’s eyes crinkled in happiness even as his lips turned down in mock anger. “For as long as I will have you? Why, that would be for as long as you live! I don’t know what I would do without you looking out for my soul, Father, and reminding me of the importance of being humble in the eyes of God. You are an inspiration to me and my solace.” His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “And to whom else could I confide my deepest fears without concern that they would be broadcast throughout the court?”

Father du Lac spread his hands, welcoming of the king’s confidence. “I have concern for little else than your eternal happiness.”

Edward, always very clever and aware of the smallest nuance, raised his eyebrows. “Concern for
little
else, Father? Then there
is
something else that concerns you? Out with it.”

Father du Lac bowed his head and tried to hide his smile at the king’s quick—wittedness. But then his true reason for having disturbed his majesty this morning came to the forefront of his mind and all of his amusement drained from him in an instant.

He lifted his head and looked the king directly in the eye. “Sire, I am only concerned about one other thing—it is something I feel is extremely disturbing. Something that needs your immediate attention and, I am afraid, action.”

Edward, too, lost his smile. His face became as serious as it had been when Father du Lac had come in and found him poring over the papers that still lay strewn over his table. “What is it, Father?”

“The witches, Sire,” the old priest said succinctly, knowing that the king was one who appreciated directness. “They are a serious threat and becoming more so even as we speak.”

“Witches?” Edward repeated as if he was certain he hadn’t heard correctly.

“Yes, Sire. They are corrupting our youth. They are teaching their devil–worship and spreading their heresies. They must be stopped.”

“Witches,” the king said again, clearly still trying to make sure that he understood the priest’s point.

“Yes. Your father sent out a decree banning all witchcraft and condemning any who practiced it to burn at the stake or be drowned. I would ask that you do the same.”

The king drew his eyebrows down, thinking about this. He turned away from du Lac and paced back to his table, where he turned and faced the priest once again. “If my father sent out this decree, then why are there still witches? Why weren’t they eradicated?”

That was, indeed, an excellent question and showed that the king was thinking about this seriously. “I am very sorry to say that his order was not followed as it should have been,” du Lac admitted. “He did not follow it up with any sort of enforcement. You, Sire, I am certain, will not make the same mistake.”

Edward stood looking at du Lac for a moment, but then he abruptly turned and looked back down at his table. “Do you know what these are, Father?” he said, indicating the papers.

“No, Sire.”

“They are battle plans,” the king told him. “Troop movements. You do realize that we are at war, Father?”

Du Lac began to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Yes, Sire.”

“The Danes. They are like a disease in the core of Britain. A disease that is spreading, trying to take over everything—trying to kill us.” Edward’s voice was quite loud by the time he had finished speaking. This was something that upset him immensely. The king had said as much to Father du Lac only the day before when they had met for Edward’s daily confession. “And you want me to enforce the killing of witches. Witches!”

“Your Majesty…”

“Father du Lac, you are a good priest and a good friend, but you do not understand statecraft. You cannot possibly comprehend what I am faced with here.” Edward indicated the papers once more. “If I were even to suggest to my lords that they send men out to every little village in the country to get rid of the witches there, I would be laughed at. Mocked for my stupidity, my naiveté. I would lose what little respect I have among these men who are only just beginning to think well of me.”

He paced back and forth furiously in front of the table. “Father, I am trying to establish myself as a great and powerful king. I am trying to bring my country together to fight this disease that is threatening it. I need my men to follow me into battle against the Danes.” He stopped and turned toward du Lac once again. “And you want me to see to the eradication of some witches?”