The Traveller's Path

Chapter 6

After a hearty supper, Eachan caught Thomas’ eye and inclined his head towards the door.

“Come wi’ me, lad. I have some words for ye, so I do.” He got up from the table.

Time to pay the piper. Thomas braced himself for Eachan"s questions as he followed Eachan outside.

The night was cool but dry. They walked down to the dock that jutted out from the coastline near the holding, where two small boats bobbed at their moorings. One dog accompanied them, and it snuffled around the shoreline, digging up interesting tidbits it found on the sandy shore.

Eachan turned to Thomas. “I have heard the Gathering tales, that Nectan released ye from your pledge.”

It was as much a question as a statement. Thomas let out a breath. “Yes.” He shrugged, embarrassed. Annoyance followed. He had done nothing wrong, but the Fey always made him feel like he had. “Because of Strang. I think. He didn’t tell me why.” He waved at Eachan’s frown. “I think Strang was going to try for Nectan’s throne. Bring a Charge against him at the Gathering. Because of his support of me. So Nectan had to show that Strang was wrong by releasing me from the Court.”

“Aye, that’s how I understood it, too.” Anger flashed across Eachan’s face. “Strang is a wee fool, so he is, but there are some who like nothing better than to listen to a golden tongue spreading tales. He has those who support his bid.”

The dog lifted its head, alert, his ears pricked as he looked back into the holding. Thomas and Eachan both looked back, too, but after a moment the dog resumed its exploration of the sand.

Eachan glanced at Thomas. “What do ye plan, then? Matthew told me his fears of the Traveller Wulfram, and since he left, other Fey have said the same.” He paused, giving him a keen look. “The last Fee knew, ye were going to Eoforwic to confront him.”

Thomas’ jaw hardened. “Yes. My father was right about him. He is trying to force Oswy off his throne, in order to get rid of the monastery. He thinks with Oswy gone, they can drive the monks out. But he knew my father would stand in his way, and so he had him killed. He told me so himself.”

“Ah,” Eachan hissed, his eyes flashing with anger. “Why did ye no kill him, then?”

“It’s not that easy.” Thomas grimaced. “He’s in league with one of the Undying. He’s used it to Bind the harper Godric to his will, and he took me to an Unseelie Gathering to do the same to me. I had little chance against him.” He spread his hands. “It’s a long story, but in the end, Nectan showed up at the Gathering and Raegenold found out what Wulfram had done to Godric, so he released me to Nectan. And kicked Wulfram out of his Court.”

“God has his hand on ye, so he does,” Eachan said, his eyes wide. He shook his head. “But now Nectan has let ye go.”

“Yeah. Well, like I said, he had little choice.”

Eachan gave him a wintery smile. “There is always a choice, young Thomas.”

At his words, a faint ripple shivered through Thomas. He shifted his shoulders, uncomfortable. “I suppose,” he answered, and sighed. “I’m not sure where to go. Oswy asked me to leave Bebbanburg, too. For now,” he added at Eachan’s startled look. “Wulfram has gathered some Unseelies around him. They’re spreading stories about a sorcerer at Oswy’s Court.”

Eachan grimaced. “Aye, even here we’ve heard them. I wondered if that were ye, so I did. A wilding Fey stands out amongst Fey and humans alike.”

“Right.” Thomas bit back his anger. It would not help him. “They are saying I’m using black magic to sway Oswy away from God.” He shook his head. “Oswy was right. My being at Bebbanburg was only playing into Wulfram’s hands, making people suspicious of him. I have to stay away for a while. But I have to be back by Solstice. I think that’s when Wulfram will do whatever it is he’s planning to do.”

Eachan’s eyebrows raised. “Solstice! Aye, I see it, so I do. The time of changing, when our power will be greatest.” His face turned grim. “His, but ours as well. He may not find it such a boon after all.”

Thomas gathered his courage. Now or never. “I need a place to lie low. Just for a couple of weeks. Is it—”

“Ach.” Eachan waved a hand, interrupting him. “Ye need not ask, lad. Ye must stay here. Your father was a good husband to me niece, and a good friend to me besides. I’ll not be sending ye away, and ye in need.”

A weight rolled off his shoulders. “Thank you,” he managed. “It could be dangerous having me here. If Wulfram finds out—”

“Nay,” Eachan said, cutting him off again. “A poor friend I’d be indeed, to refuse his son in his time of need because of fear. Ye will stay as long as you need, so ye will.” A wry smile lifted his lips. “Besides, I’d not relish explaining to Fee why I sent ye away.”

“Right. Thank you.” He shook his head. “Still, he could cause you some trouble.” He couldn’t help the bitterness that coloured his words. “Or something else could happen. Like you said, I’m a wilding. I attract trouble.”

Eachan laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Ah, lad, we Fey are no strangers to trouble, wildin" or no. Ye need not worry.” The amusement faded from his eyes, replaced by a hard light. “As for Wulfram, I’d like to see him try it, so I would. Do not fret. I’ll set a watch. No one will come near wi’out me knowing.” He turned to go back to his house, whistling for the dog to follow.

Silence fell in his absence. For a moment, Thomas allowed himself to enjoy the peaceful night, listening to the small splash of the water against the shore and the far-off melody of a blackbird’s song floating through the dark.

His father had likely stood in this very place, perhaps thinking about him. At the thought, grief speared through him again. Their time together had been so short. He swallowed, his throat tight. Short as it had been, he couldn’t forget that to be reunited with his father again had been an unexpected grace. Nona had pointed that out when Matthew had first appeared. Many who lost loved ones would give anything to have the same opportunity.

He looked up at the sky, where stars were shining through the darkening sky. Christ stands before you, and peace is on his mind. The prayer Aidan had spoken over his father’s grave came back to him, easing the ache of grief.

The blackbird sang again. Thomas closed his eyes, listening. Psalm 103, the monks’ favourite psalm, ran through his mind. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name.

A better meditation than to dwell on all the ways he feared he was inadequate to face what might come.