The Traveller's Path

Chapter 8

Thomas stood by his father’s grave, the morning mist curling around his ankles as the sun rose over the horizon. He had left Odda with Celyn so that he could avoid Nona. He wasn’t up to confessing what had happened, even with a night’s sleep behind him.

A simple marker in the small cemetery next to the village church was the only sign of Matthew’s grave, much different from the other one at home. He had grieved at the grave of a stranger all those years when he thought Matthew had died, but in fact was here, alive.

Not anymore. The thought pierced him like a knife. Once again, his father had left him alone. And although he knew it was irrational, he couldn’t help the anger that boiled up at the thought. What had Matthew been doing that night?

I killed your father. Godric’s confession whispered through his mind. It rang true. But the harper’s tale of seeing Frithlac push Matthew off the embarkment also held the ring of truth. The complete story had yet to be told. Perhaps he would never know.

But no matter who was there that night, he was convinced Wulfram was behind it. Wulfram had implied as much. He wished he had pressed the other Traveller on the details. Perhaps the subtle influence of the demon had directed his attention away from that topic.

He exhaled sharply. His father was truly dead this time, killed through Wulfram’s doing, no matter how it had happened. Because Matthew had determined to stop the other Traveller. And even though the thought filled him with dread, he knew the task was now his.

“But how?” Whether his murmured question was for his father or God, he wasn’t sure. Either way, no answer presented itself.

“Thomas.”

He whirled around as the tingling sense of another Fey alerted him at the same time as the whispered word. Nona stood behind him, wreathed in mist. So much for trying to avoid her.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I thought it best we spoke alone.” She joined him at the grave and looked down at it for a moment, her lips moving in a silent prayer before she crossed herself and looked back at him. “How are you?”

Thomas shrugged. “Alive.”

A faint smile touched her mouth. “Thank God,” she murmured. The smile faded. “Tell me now what you left out last night. I sent word to Brorda and Nectan before you went to Eoforwic, as you asked. Did they find you? Is that how you escaped from Raegenold’s Court? And the slave boy. There is more to be told of him.”

The slave boy. Thomas’ gut tightened. Best to tackle the first question first. “Yes, Brorda met us on the road. Godric wasn’t happy about it, but I told him I wouldn’t go to Eoforwic without him. But we were ambushed along the way. Wulfram used Brorda against me, to ensure my good behaviour. Nectan caught up with us at the Unseelie Gathering. If he hadn’t shown up when he did, Wulfram and Raegenold would have made me their puppet.”

“Thank God for His mercy,” Nona exhaled. “But how did our king persuade Raegenold to release you?”

“Wulfram neglected to tell Raegenold that I’d pledged to Nectan. He wasn’t too pleased to find that out. And I guess he had second thoughts about Wulfram once he heard about the Undying. He seemed happy to have a reason to release me.” He let out a breath. “He kicked Wulfram out of his Court. But there are Unseelie who support him, even so.”

“Wulfram’s anger will be roused against you. Yet it seems he needs you for his plan. Otherwise, he would have killed you once you defied him, rather than taking you to Raegenold.” Her face clouded. "But what drives him to such evil?"

Thomas shook his head, remembering the desire that had flared in Wulfram’s eyes when he had seen the demon in Godric. “He didn’t give me details. I’m not sure he has any. He’s just obsessed with the monastery, with the Church. He thinks if he can get rid of Oswy and put Penda on the throne, Lindisfarne will disappear." He hesitated. He had to tell Nona more, but even with the Fey he had to be careful of how much of the future he revealed. "In his time, he sees his twin brother die at the hands of men who are motivated by hatred. Part of that hatred stems from the actions of the Church. And so Wulfram thinks that if he destroys the Church now, in the future his twin won"t die."

Nona frowned. "But that is madness." She eyed him, wary. "You have never told me how far in time you have Travelled. And I don"t want to know," she added, hastily. "But I know you come from a time far from us. Surely it cannot be as easy as all that, to change something now that will have that great an effect then? Is Lindisfarne so important?"

"I don"t know. But the important thing is that he believes it is. I told you, he"s obsessed with it." He spread his hands. “Once he tries something here and goes back to his own time, if he doesn’t find the result he wants, he’ll come back and try something else. On and on until he gets what he wants—the Fey triumphant. And most importantly to him, his brother alive.”

Nona’s face paled as the implications struck home. "God have mercy," she breathed. She gathered herself, her gaze sharpening on him. “If he needs you for this plan, the best thing is for you to go back to your time. Now. Before he gets his hands on you again. If you’re not here, perhaps his plan will fall to pieces.”

“No!” He modulated his sharp tone. “Don’t you see? If it wasn’t me, he’d latch onto someone else. Maybe you. Or Celyn. How hard would it be to direct him to slit Oswy’s throat one night while he slept? Just like he compelled Frithlac to kill my father.” He shook his head. “Better that he keeps his eyes on me.” His fists curled. “I have to stop him. Finish what my father started by being here, waiting for me. Because of that, he drew Wulfram and Godric here as well as me. I can’t leave. Running away isn’t the answer. My father taught me that.” Grief choked off his voice, and he heaved a breath, fighting the despair that seized him.

“Thomas,” Nona said, her emerald eyes filling with compassion. Mist wreathed her form, cutting them off from the world.

It was too much. His fragile self-control broke. He reached out and cupped her face, her cheek satin against his palm. With a groan, he bent towards her, slanting his lips over hers. The buzzing Fey-sense, the sweetness of her lips, the press of her body against him obliterated everything else.

They clung to each other for a long moment before Nona wrenched away with a gasp, her hand pressing against her mouth. “We should not—” she choked out, her other hand out, warding him away.

Misery filled her face, and then she turned on her heel, her slender form dissolving into the mist as she rushed away.

Thomas took a step after her and then reason returned and he froze, wrapping his arms around himself. Christ, have mercy. What had he done?

Nothing had changed. He was a Traveller. She belonged here. She was going to be married to another. He could not interfere.

He told himself all these things and more. But all of them seemed hollow in the light of the sweet thrill of her lips on his.

You’ve just made things ten times worse, i***t, he told himself.

But he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

He heaved a breath. He had forgotten to speak to her of Odda. After he and Celyn spoke to Oswy, he would seek her out and tell her what happened. He’d have to apologize, too, although he was finding it hard to feel sorry about their kiss. The silky feel of her lips against his remained, kindling a glow in his heart that brought welcome warmth.

Not yours, Tommo. He clenched his jaw as his father’s voice whispered through his mind.

Right, he thought back at it, defiant. And what are you going to do about it?

But there was no answer.

Celyn insisted on waiting to seek out Oswy, and after seeing his bloodshot eyes and careful movements, Thomas curbed his impatience. He’d seen the signs of a hangover in his mother too often to press the point. According to Celyn, Oswy likely felt the same.

After breakfast, he left Celyn nursing his headache and sipping on Nona’s draught. He bolstered his courage and went to find the Healer. Bronwyn told him she had gone to dress a burn caused by someone tripping and falling into the hearth fire the night before, likely the result of too much ale. She made it clear that several others would need Nona’s services after that, so Thomas left her to her task of gathering the supplies Nona had requested. He couldn’t help but feel relief that his conversation with Celyn"s cousin would have to wait.

He turned back to go to Celyn’s house, but a shout stopped him.

“Master Thomas! God be praised, ye be back!” Oswy’s priest and scribe, Father Colm, hurried towards him, a friendly smile wreathing his face.

Thomas smiled back, relieved to be rescued from his gloomy thoughts. “I just arrived last night.”

Colm’s gaze skimmed over him. “Ah, ye look fair worn out, so ye do. A hard journey, then? Your father’s wife, is she well?”

“She grieves. But her family will help her. She is going back to her uncle’s holding in Dál Riata.”

“Ah,” the priest said, sympathy in his face. “May the God of all comfort bring her peace. I will pray for her, so I will, and for ye as well. Grief can be a hard journey.”

“Yes.” His heart eased at Father Colm’s words. “Thank you.”

A family walked by, and the father’s eyes narrowed as he saw Thomas. He lifted a hand in greeting to the priest, but hurried his family along without stopping. The oldest child, a young boy around Odda’s age of ten years, looked back over his shoulder at him, his eyes wide.

Father Colm glanced at him. “Be careful, me son. Tales have sprung up in your absence, I fear. Raedmund still seeks an answer for his brother’s disappearance. His mistrust of ye only grows, and he is not careful to hide it.”

Thomas nodded, keeping his face neutral. “Thank you, Father. I’ll watch my step.”

His unease deepened as he watched the priest hurry off towards the church. Deorwald’s disappearance on the night of the Wild Hunt was the price paid for the Alder KIng letting his father go. The long fingers of fear from that night lingered still. Fuelled by Wulfram’s Unseelies. The rumours of the black sorcerer in Oswy’s Court would only increase now that he was back. Lindisfarne would be a better shelter for him. But he had to free Odda before he went there.

But how? Anxiety speared through him, but he forced it down and closed his eyes. God, show me the way.

He waited a moment, but with no answer forthcoming, he sighed and opened his eyes. The way of the Fey comes by doing. He sighed. Right. Doing what? The road ahead seemed shrouded, a looping circle that led to nowhere.