Knight of Wands (Knights of the Tarot Book 1) (16 page)

“Very well,” he said, licking his lips. “But first, I’m not the sort of vampire you probably imagine. Aye, I drink blood, but I’m not a reanimated corpse like the vampires in the movies; I belong to the ranks of the faeries.”

She swallowed her surprise. “Did you say
faeries
?—as in Tinker Bell?”

“Not at all like Tinker Bell,” he said with no trace of humor. “More like the faeries of Celtic legend. Are you familiar at all with the stories of Avalon, the mythological Isle of Apples?”

She nodded. She’d studied the Arthurian legends and their history in college. Avalon was an otherworld island ruled by Morgan Le Fay, a powerful and, by some accounts, ruthless sorceress. “It’s supposed to be a paradise where no one ages or dies, the sun never sets, and flowers bloom once and never fade.”

“All true,” he said sullenly, “though even a paradise can be a prison.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Aye. In life, I was the court astrologer to James the Fourth, who, as you probably don’t know, was killed at the Battle of Flodden Field.”

Her heart was hammering and her mouth felt dry. “But you weren’t?”

“Nay, I was taken from the battlefield into Avalon.”

Vanessa’s mind was swimming from all she’d learned so far. “So…you’re immortal?”

“Aye, more or less, though not invincible. In fact, if Queen Morgan didn’t believe me dead, I wouldn’t be sitting here now.”

She knitted her brow. “Why does she believe you’re dead?”

He gave her a tight smile. “Perhaps I should begin at the beginning...”

“Perhaps you should,” she said, still struggling to wrap her mind around what he’d told her so far.

He got to his feet, took hold of the bedpost, and turned away from her. “I’ve never spoken of these things to anyone before…”

Her heart felt swollen and heavy. She liked him more than she’d ever liked any man, and hated the idea of forgetting him. At the same time, forgetting him might be for the best because...well, if she couldn’t remember him, she couldn’t miss him, either.

“Before the battle, I warned the king not to invade England, told him the stars and planets disfavored the campaign, but he wouldn’t listen. Don’t get me wrong, he was a good king, but also stubbornly convinced his superior army would prevail. He also was determined to help France by diverting some of King Henry’s troops from the campaign in Italy. It didn’t help that Henry had opened old wounds by declaring himself Overlord of Scotland.

“I was his astrologer, but also an able-bodied knight, so I had no choice but to join the fight, even though I knew the casualties would be heavy…and that I would likely be among them.” He heaved a sigh and shook his head. “The stars weren’t wrong. When the smoke cleared, half our army laid dead upon the field. Not only foot soldiers, but hundreds of earls, lords, and knights, too—a whole generation of nobles cut down like haystalks in a battle that, had the king only heeded the warnings of the heavens, would never had taken place.”

He got quiet, as if collecting himself, before going on. “I took a lance to the chest and fell from my horse. Either the wound or the fall knocked me out, because the next thing I remembered, it was night. I came back to myself with the sickening odor of butchered meat swirling in my nostrils. All around me, friends and comrades lay in heaps, their faces frozen, their eyes glassy and staring. The battlefield was quiet apart from the wind, which felt as cold and merciless as the hand of death. Death hadn’t claimed me yet, but, given how wretched I felt, I was sure it wouldn’t be long.”

Callum paused and looked over his shoulder, letting her see his anguished expression, before turning away again. “My head pounded like the drums of war, my lungs felt heavy and wet, my limbs were weak and leaden, and black blood bubbled from my punctured cuirass. There were numerous cuts and abrasions on my hands, and I had broken several bones, but these were minor injuries compared to the chest wound.

“I was dying, I knew for a surety—of the blood loss, if nothing else. I was glad of it, too. I welcomed death; longed for it, even. I knew, you see, that if I did recover, I would never again be the same…and I would have much rather died in a useless battle than live on as a useless man.”

His voice was strangled by strong emotion. Her heart ached for him, and she would have gone to him if she thought he’d welcome her comfort.

Taking a breath, he went on. “Hooves sounded in the distance. It had to be an English patrol coming to stove in my head…or maybe scavengers to rob the dead and wounded. They’d take anything they could sell for a few pennies. Weapons, armor, boots, purses, buttons—even teeth, if they weren’t too decayed. Being a well-to-do nobleman, I had good, strong teeth. With any luck, I thought, they would kill me before yanking them out of my jaw.

“The hoof beats grew louder. When at last horse and rider came into view, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was a lass on a pure-white pony with the longest mane and tail I’d ever beheld. I blinked a few times, sure I must be hallucinating, but she remained where she was, as big as life and as bonny as a woodland nymph.

“‘Do any Scots yet live?’ she called out in a voice like music on the wind. When I answered, albeit feebly, she slipped off her horse, came to where I lay, and crouched down. Her black hair hung below her waist, her eyes were as green as emeralds, and light seemed to shine from within her. As she checked my wounds, she told me her name was Belphoebe, and asked me mine. It took all the strength I could summon to give her my answer. Learning I was the king’s astrologer, she said, ‘Our astrologers foresaw the slaughter. Why did you not warn your king?’

“After I told her I had, and how he’d ignored my warnings, she withdrew a golden chalice from the folds of the gossamer garment she wore. Holding the cup to my lips, she urged me to drink. The beverage inside tasted like honey mead, but had to be enchanted. For no sooner had I drunk it down than my chest ceased hurting and the strength returned to my limbs.”

Vanessa, throat tight, hung on every word. The story was incredible, gripping…and, inconceivably,
true
.

Callum glanced at her again, then away. “After helping me to my feet, Belphoebe mounted her horse. I was still marveling at my miraculous healing when she grabbed me by the arm and swung me up behind her in a display of impossible strength. I clung to her, burying my face in her apple-scented tresses, as we rode hard toward the sea. When I asked where we were going, she simply answered, ‘To Avalon.’”

He shot another backward glance at Vanessa, his eyes glittering. “I was astonished, as you might imagine, having always thought Avalon merely a mythical place.” He turned back to the window before going on with the story. “At the water’s edge, she urged her mount forward, into the water. The pony, to my amazement, ran across the surface, its silver hooves clinking like wind chimes as we galloped over the waves. Just before we reached the Farne Islands, the animal dove under, swam to the bottom, and cantered along the ocean floor. I was so dumbfounded by this turn of events, I hardly noticed I felt neither wet nor buoyant…and could breathe as normal.

“At length, we entered an underwater cave, wherein an invisible force pressed down on me. Suddenly fearful, I clung tighter to Belphoebe and shut my eyes. The next thing I knew, we were on the shore of an island fortressed by cliffs. Towering pine trees edged the sugar-white sand and the sultry air carried the perfume of apple blossoms and honeysuckle.

“Belphoebe urged the pony up a hill, stopping at the crest of the butte. Below us lay a deep, misty glen with a crystalline loch at its center. Dense groves of deciduous trees—all leafy and bright green despite it being autumn—bordered the shore. A tidal island with a castle upon occupied the center of the loch. A precarious-looking rope bridge connected the island to the shore. “‘What is to be my fate?’ I asked, deeply afeared.”

When he stopped speaking, Vanessa waited on tenterhooks for him to continue his fantastic tale. When he didn’t, she cleared her throat and asked, “What did she say?”

He turned and, for the first time since starting the story, met her gaze head on. “She said I was to be a knight to the queen.”

A knight to the queen? That didn’t sound so very terrible.

With a sigh, he turned away again and went on with the story. “Inside the castle, I was taken to the royal receiving room and stripped naked before the queen and her attendants. Shame and outrage cooked within me as they prodded and fondled me like a prize bull at a livestock auction. I kept telling myself this couldn’t be happening, that it must all be a dream of delirium brought on by my battle wounds, but, try as I might, I could not pull myself out of the hallucination.”

He sighed again and took a moment before saying, “Once I’d passed inspection, two impossibly strong female faeries held my arms while the queen approached with a golden grail. It contained blood, which she poured down my throat. Within seconds, I became groggy and disoriented. The attending faeries forced me to my knees before the throne, whereupon Queen Morgan performed the ceremony of the accolade—striking a blow on each shoulder with a sword she called
Caliburnus
while dubbing me a Knight of Avalon.

“Afterward, the faeries took me to a guardhouse, where they bathed and dressed me in a simple saffron tunic before showing me to a barracks. Other knights were there—all Scottish nobles who’d fallen in battles dating back to ancient times. Bannockburn, Boroughbridge, Dornock, Neville’s Cross, Piperdean, and many more. All, like me, were strong of body and fair of face.”

Callum rubbed the back of his neck, then came and sat beside Vanessa. In a low, strained voice, he said, “You might find the rest disturbing, so prepare yourself. Unless you’d rather I didn’t tell you.”

“No,” she said, touching his arm. “I want to hear everything.”

“Very well…but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He licked his lips and looked away. “I asked one of the other knights, a big Viking Highlander called Axel, what our duties were. His answer both shocked me senseless and made me feel ill.”

“What did he say?” she asked with strangling dread.

“He said we were the queen’s drones.” After a prolonged silence, he continued. “Avalon, I soon learned, operated in the manner of a beehive. Below the queen were the ladies of the court, the royal archers, and the servants—in that order. Some of the faeries were sold as slaves to the denizens of other lands. Elves, vampires, and the like. From the guardhouse yard, I watched the comings and goings of these and other creatures I’d previously believed were purely mythical.

“The males of the colony served only one purpose: the pleasuring of the females. There were three hierarchies of drone. The knights, who were fertile, serviced the queen; the squires, who were infertile, serviced the ladies of the court; and the pages, also sterile, were at the disposal of all.

“Life at Castle Le Fay was like something out of a twisted novel. Pages walked around without a stitch, sporting erections. Couples fornicated openly, heedless of their audience. The queen took multiple knights to her bed, often ordering us to do things to one another as she looked on…or to pleasure ourselves while watching her with one or more of our comrades.”

“Oh, my God,” was all Vanessa could think to say in her horror.

“Weeks passed, but, since the sun never set, there was no way to mark the days. I missed the stars, my life, my freedom, my family and friends, and my dignity. I begged God for deliverance, but my prayers went unanswered. I lost hope, self-respect, and the will to live. Then, one day, four fairies hauled me out of bed and dragged me into the grove. After leading me to a clearing, they stripped me naked and staked me to the ground, spread-eagled, before pouring warm honey over my genitals. Terrified and thrashing against my restraints, I demanded to know why I was being punished.”

With tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat, Vanessa asked, “What did they say?”

Through clenched teeth, he ground out, “They said I was being punished for siring naught but drones.”

Vanessa, heavy-hearted, shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither did I,” he said. “I only know she killed all the male children she bore…and made their fathers pay a heavy toll. The faeries left me there, naked and staked, to suffer the tortures of starvation, sunburn, and insects. The ground was strewn with fruit just beyond my reach. The fecund smell of its sun-rotting flesh sickened me even as my stomach cried to be filled. Thirst turned my throat to jerky. Wasps and yellow jackets stung where they’d poured the honey. Flies swarmed to me, buzzing, biting, and laying eggs.”

Vanessa swallowed hard, sickened by the things he’d described. She also was outraged. How could anyone be so cruel—especially to someone who’d done nothing wrong?

“Just when I thought I could bear no more, I felt the touch of caring hands. It was Belphoebe, come to set me free. She cut me loose and helped me to a stream, where she cleaned me up before taking me to a hidden cave. After laying me down on a bed of pelts, she sliced open her wrist and offered me the dripping wound. Blind and delirious, I drank her blood and felt better at once. Until she told me I was to be offered as the tithe.”

“Tithe? As in a tax?”

“Aye,” he said. “To the Dark Lord of the Thitherworld. Every seventh Samhain, each royal court must pay him a tithe in the form of a blood oblation. The tithe was due the next day…and the queen had designated me as the sacrifice.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “So, I was to be sacrificed. For no worse crime than begetting sons.”