The Traveller's Path

Chapter 2

Thomas started towards the dune where the other Fey was hiding, seeking to flush him out. Whether it was one of Wulfram"s underlings or Nectan"s Seelies; or Raegenold"s lackey, Cadán, he or would not go any further with this Fey shadowing his steps. He was sick and tired of being watched. He drew on a little of his power, its sharp tang of it giving him confidence.

But he had only moved a couple of steps when a faint sound of voices from behind caused him to whirl around. A group of humans came into view around a curve in the path along the way he had come. At almost the same time, a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye made him spin around again, and he saw a Fey leap up from behind the dune, quicksilver in his movements, covered with a shimmering glow of power. He darted away into the rumpled dunes, gone before the humans had seen him.

Thomas dove for the dunes as well. He peeked around the knoll he was hiding behind and his breath caught in his chest. A hand lay curled and unmoving against a clump of yellow stonecrop beside the dune where he had spotted the Unseelie. A human hand, not one belonging to a Fey. A woman, judging by the graceful curve of the fingers.

The club-footed Fey’s voice snaked through his mind. I’m sure you’ll find it an interesting journey. He had assumed the Unseelie had been referring to the mist, but with a sinking heart he realized Wulfram had planned more surprises for this day.

A breathless chortle reached his ears. His head snapped around, but he saw no one. He scooted forward on his stomach so he could see further along the path.

His breath caught. Five men approached, carrying weapons. Axes, two scythes, a seax, and a spear bristled from their hands. The presence of the Fey, the woman, and the humans was not coincidental. The men must be searching for the woman who lay motionless ahead. They would stumble upon her within minutes. And then upon him, if they investigated further.

Cold sweat pricked his brow. They would blame him for the woman’s plight. Which was likely the point of this little drama.

But if he made it to her first, he could make it look like he was trying to help her. A thin plan, but it was the only one he had. He prayed under his breath as he scurried over to the other dune, hunched over so as not to be seen.

A young woman lay on her side with her eyes closed, pillowed on her outstretched arm. Her features held a delicate beauty. Her tunic, although plain and patched, was clean enough, and her blonde hair combed under the scarf wrapped around her head.

He saw no injury. She seemed asleep. But the problem was obvious. The Unseelie had Charmed her. A faint shimmering net covered her, and his hand tingled when he shook her shoulder, trying to wake her. “Miss?” he asked softly, so as not to startle her. “Miss? Wake up!”

But the Charm held her fast asleep. Thomas scanned her supine form.The scuffled footfalls of the humans drew closer. He had run out of time. He raised his power, brushing his hand against the net that covered her.

The Charm broke with a small tick. The girl took a shuddering breath, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. Her eyes flared in shock and she screeched in fright, pushing herself away and scrambling to her feet. She tried to back off but staggered; her face a mask of fear.

Thomas caught her before she fell. “Hush now, it’s all right. You’re all right.”

Shouts rose from the men, and they broke into a run.

The girl struggled against him. “Da!” she screamed. “Help! Da!”

Thomas had no choice but to release her, and she lurched into the group of men as they churned to a halt. One folded her in his arms as she collapsed, weeping, against his chest.

The others ringed themselves around Thomas, their weapons held at the ready, their faces hard and wary.

The man patted his daughter’s back. “There now, lass, be not afraid. What has he done to ye? Tell me.”

“I’ve done nothing to her,” Thomas interjected, striving to sound innocent despite the wild tripping of his heart. “I found her here, asleep.”

The father’s eyes narrowed, and he looked back at his daughter. “Maida, is this true? What possessed ye to leave your bed in the middle of the night?”

The girl sobbed, unable to speak. The man pried her fingers from his tunic and gripped her upper arms, his face stern. “Speak, girl, and be quick!”

The girl gulped back her sobs at the look on her father’s face. “I don’t know! It were the music I heard, so sweet. I thought it a dream.”

Her father glanced at Thomas, dark speculation in his eyes.

The girl continued. “I went to find out where it came from, and I…” She stopped, frowning. “It were beautiful, Da, like the song of angels…” A dreamy look crept over her face as she spoke. Her eyes fluttered as her voice trailed off.

Alarm filled his eyes. “Maida!” He shook her once, hard.

Her eyes snapped into focus, and she looked at her father in confusion. “Da! Why are you here?” She looked around at the men and noticed Thomas. She shrieked and scrambled behind her father. “I saw him, Da, in my dreams!” Tears coursed down her cheeks.

Great. Thomas’ heart sank. This was Unseelie mischief, a plot that he had walked right into. A plot set in place by Wulfram. But he had no time to puzzle out the reason.

One man looked over at the father. “Witchcraft!” he hissed.

There was a mutter of agreement, and some made the sign against evil.

“No, you are mistaken!” Thomas said, holding up his hands. He looked for a sign that one of them might believe him, but all of their faces were hard and angry. He spun back to face the girl’s father again. “She was sleeping. I swear it by all that’s holy. I woke her up just before you appeared.”

A burly fellow with a bristling black beard spoke up. “This is he! I’ve seen him, at the bone carver’s Ordeal. This is the one who has brought corruption amongst us. ’Tis obvious he has wicked intent against Maida. Perhaps he seeks to steal her away in to the Otherworld. We cannot listen to him lest he ensorcels us all!”

Fear flitted from face to face as the man’s words hit home.

Thomas lifted his hands in supplication, hoping to appeal again to reason. “No, wait, I—”

A tremendous whack to the back of his head cut him off. He staggered, and blackness rushed over him.

Thomas woke with a groan, his head pounding along with each heartbeat. The mist. Going to Bebbanburg. The girl—

An icy hand of fear seized him as memory rushed back. He lay on his side, in dim light, with his hands tied behind his back. A rough cloth tied over his mouth restricted his breathing. A buzz of excited voices came from outside the shed, but the thudding headache made it hard to concentrate on anything else.

He was in a small, windowless building that smelled of leather and horse. A storage shed for tack, likely. He did not know how long he had been out, and the dim light that filtered through the c****s in the wattle and daub walls gave him no clue.

He sat up, gritting his teeth as he leaned back against the nearby wall. He struggled against his bonds, but to no avail. Frustration filled him. There was nothing to do but wait. He shut his eyes, seeking calm. Aidan would counsel him to pray. He began the Breastplate, and followed it with the caim and Psalm 103, reciting them in a low murmur.

The opening of the door interrupted him, revealing the shape of a man against the grey outdoors.

“He’s awake,” the man said over his shoulder to whomever else was outside, and then stepped aside.

The girl’s father strode in, his face set and hard. Thomas shrank against the wall, but there was nowhere to go. The father did not say a word as he lifted his hand with a sneer. A hand that held a knife. "Not yet," he snarled.

Adrenaline kicked Thomas into action and he propelled himself to his feet, but he was a split second too slow to dodge the blow. The knife handle connected with his temple, and everything winked out.

Consciousness returned slowly. Bits and pieces of himself swooped and fluttered like bits of paper in the wind, each holding a different bit of memory. The mist. Conaire. The girl. Nona. Nausea and dizziness swept over him as he tried to sit up, and he retched, sinking down again. He breathed in through his nose to settle his gut. He still wore the gag. The last thing he wanted to do was vomit.

Urgency speared through him. He had to get to Goswick by sunset. He pushed himself to a sitting position, supported by the wall. After a moment the dizziness faded, allowing him to think more clearly.

Wulfram must have orchestrated this diversion. Perhaps to stop him from arriving at Merton’s holding before the appointed time. And to weaken him before their meeting. He had to figure out how long he’d been out.

But before his addled brain could work that out, the door opened, causing him to squint against the sudden light.

A man stood in the doorway. “He’s awake, my lord! Be careful!”

Another man stepped in, a seax in his hand. He paused and then strode towards where Thomas sat propped against the wall.

Thomas would have pressed himself through the wall if he could, for the newcomer was Raedmund, whose brother Deorwald disappeared the night the Alder King chased Thomas’ father back into his life.

This was not a good development. Neither was the appearance of the coerl Dunn on Raedmund’s heels, a nasty grin on his broad face.

Raedmund crouched before him, fingering the edge of the seax as if testing it for its sharpness before he grabbed Thomas’ hair and forced his head up. He pressed the blade against Thomas’ throat. “Sceadugenga,” he hissed, anger flaring in his eyes. “Now, at last, I shall avenge my brother.”

Muted by the gag, Thomas could make no reply. Not that anything he said would help. Once Torht was judged innocent through the Ordeal, Raedmund’s suspicions had fallen upon Thomas. Clearly, he had not changed his opinion.

“Oh aye,” Dunn said. He stood beside Raedmund, his fingers hitched in the belt that spread across his wide form. “Burn, ye will, and with none to save ye this time!” His small piggy eyes glittered with malicious delight.

Thomas’ blood ran cold at this pronouncement. Panic flared as they reached for him and hauled him to his feet. He struggled against them, but his efforts weren"t enough to stop them from dragging him out of the shed.