Knight of Runes (6 page)

For some time, the old man was aware of an energy change. His thoughts raced as he tried to make sense of it. Time was running out. He came to this place to investigate before it was too late. Malevolence surrounded him and left a sour acrid smell in the air. It was worse than he originally thought, and a sense of urgency washed over him.

In the guise of Doward the old tinker, a form he used often, he traveled in his wagon with his horse, Shade, stopping at villages to gather any information available concerning the changes to the land. He was a welcome face to many but none knew his true purpose.

Riding along the trail, enjoying the forest, Shade’s ears flattened. The horse stopped and drew back prancing nervously. Doward spoke softly and reined her in, calming her.

“Did you feel that too?” With the horse settled, he looked around trying to identify the source. It may have been a peculiar breeze that swept by rustling the trees or an errant cloud that darkened the trail. He wasn’t certain. The hair on the back of his neck stiffened in warning.

“A new energy I suspect and it’s close. It’s not at all like what we’ve come to investigate. This one has a sweet and spicy aroma. Do you agree?”

The horse whinnied her response.

He straightened in the wagon seat, a frown etched on his face. “So you agree, my friend. Well, we will see,” he said softly. He continued moving down the trail, the pull of the energy’s signature getting stronger.

The scent of lavender and roses filled the air when he turned the bend. He stopped. Night was quickly falling. He would have to stop soon and he hoped the energy would stay in one place for the night. He mustn’t lose its trail. Wetting his lips, he dragged his sweaty palms down his shirt. He got off the wagon and as he passed the horse, absentmindedly patted her nose as he went on alone to scout ahead.

The dark smoky aroma of fresh burning wood caught his attention. He surveyed the landscape, looking for the source. In the distance, he saw the campfire just off the trail. As he approached, he felt a snap. Surprised, he came to an abrupt stop. The energy turned cold with apprehension. The stranger knew he approached.

He continued on to the campsite. The stranger slowly stood and took an intimidating stance, legs comfortably apart, a staff held in both hands. It was a neutral position but made the point. The stranger was at high alert and on the defensive.

Only a few feet away now, he called out, “Good eve.”

“Good evening.” The stranger’s voice was husky, cold and distant.

Silhouetted by the campfire, Doward couldn’t make out who it was. He must be careful. There were too many strange things happening lately. He inched over to the right, forcing the stranger to turn. He kept his hands in full sight and spoke calmly. “I saw your fire from the road. It looked inviting.”

He continued to move to the right eventually putting the campfire between them, illuminating the stranger’s face. It took a few seconds to register that he faced a woman, a fierce beautiful woman. He eased down and stirred the waning campfire back to life, sending the woman thoughts to convince her she was safe. She seemed to understand him but said and did nothing. He felt her resistance to his intrusion and realized her mind would not be easily controlled. He backed his mind away quickly and tried another approach. He emanated calm and a sense of sincere friendship so she knew there was nothing to fear. At last, she sat down, the walking staff across her lap.

“I noticed signs of a great slide up the trail. I expected it was a large rock. But I could find nothing large enough to make such destruction. Looking at you, I think I may have found the rock.” He chuckled, raising his palms to the fire for warmth even though the night was mild.

He perceived a smile in her eyes. It was a small victory but he could work with that. “I’ll make us some hot tea and I have some sweet cakes. We’ll feast as we get better acquainted.” He saw the small signs of understanding. The lure of something hot to drink and something to eat appealed to her. He watched her shoulders relax and her grip on her staff loosen. He didn’t miss the alertness in her eyes.

He felt her watch him as he went to his wagon and brought it closer to the campsite. He returned to the campfire carrying supplies.

“My name is Doward.” He handed her a small pot of salve and began preparing the tea. “Here, this will help ease those nasty scrapes.”

“I’m Rebeka Tyler.” She put her staff to the side and took the offered pot. Opening it carefully, she held it with one hand and waved her other hand over it to gather the fragrance. “Yarrow and olive oil,” she said as she dipped her finger into the pot and rubbed the cream between her index finger and thumb. “Nice consistency.” She dabbed the ointment on the scrapes, beginning with her legs.

He let out a huge breath. His eyes locked on her as he continued to make their tea. The makeshift bandage on her leg had not gone unnoticed. “How did you fall down the mountain?”

“It’s a long story.” She had already taken care of her arms with the cream and was moving on to her face.

“We’ve plenty of time.” Doward smiled warmly, handing her a sweet cake. “The tea is almost ready.”

“I was looking at the standing stones and the next thing I knew I was tumbling down a mountain.” She closed the pot and took the cake.

He read the confusion on her face. He felt it, as well. She seemed out of place. She was a bit tall for a woman but not exceedingly so. She traveled alone without any protection and she seemed capable of looking after herself although she did take a nasty fall. Her clothes, what was left of them, were strange and her speech was different, an odd hard sound.
Rebeka Tyler, who are you, where are you from and what part do you play here? I sense you’re important to this problem but not its source. You are a pure light.
He poured the tea and handed it to her.

“So, Doward, where are you from?” She took the tea he offered.

“I am far from my home.” He suspected she was too. “I make my livelihood as a tinker trading from village to village. Now I call each village home. They greet me like a long-lost son, celebrating my return with a feast. And like the returning son, I fill them with stories of my travels. We feast, tell stories, share news.” He took a sip of his tea.

“Are you with a festival?”

“A festival?”

“A traveling reenactment or something. I thought with your clothes and the horse and wagon there must be a reenactment nearby. You really are quite good.”

“Why, thank you.” He did not offer more information. He was putting the pieces together rather quickly.

“Doward, how far is it to Avebury, Fayne Manor, or is there another place closer where I can find some help?”

“The nearest village is a long day’s walk from here. I will gladly help you get there in the morning. It’s faster by wagon. From the look of you, you need some rest. Besides, it’s not safe to be on the trail at night. There is safety in staying together.”

He handed her a dark brown wool cloak that he had retrieved from the wagon. “Put this over your clothes. It will keep you warm. The night will be cold.”

She wrapped herself in the cloak and sat down, her back propped up against a large rock. She tipped her head back, closing her eyes briefly, and took a deep breath. He watched as she calmed herself and relaxed.

“Thanks. You do stay in character.” She yawned and stretched her arms. “You’re right, rest would be good.”

He smiled. They both settled themselves for the night, Doward on one side of the fire, Rebeka across on the other.

Rebeka woke to a nutty smell. Her mouth watered and her stomach gave an unladylike growl. She looked up and saw Doward hovering over the campfire, stirring the pot.

“Good morrow, Rebeka Tyler. I hope you slept well.”

She stretched, got to her feet. “I did, Doward. What smells so good?”

“I made us something to break the morning fast, oatmeal, some bread, cheese and tea. I hope you’re hungry.”

Rebeka rubbed her hands together as he spooned the thick porridge into a bowl. “I’m starving. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.” She took the offered bowl.

“Your bruises look better. How’s your leg?”

“It seems to be all right,” she said sitting down and looking under the bandage. “It aches a bit.” Her head still down, she peeked at him from under her thick lashes. “Doward, I know you offered to take me to the nearest village, but I’ve given this a lot of thought. I got here by coming down the mountain. It must be the way back. I see no other alternative. I was looking for a way up yesterday but stopped when it got dark.” She took some berries Doward offered and sprinkled them on her oatmeal. Her eyes closed and she took in a deep breath as she savored her meal.

“There is a way up. It’s close by.” He ate his berries. “It’s a steep climb with many turns but it can be done.” He licked the last of the sweet syrupy fruit off his fingers. “When you’re ready we’ll break camp. I thought you might want to go to the top. I’ll take you there.”

Breakfast done and the wagon loaded, they were ready to leave. Rebeka picked up her meager belongings and joined Doward. The wagon swayed with a rhythmic almost hypnotic beat as they headed down the trail. She kept alert and scoured the mountain side.

“Doward, is that the path?” Her voice was breathless.

Doward turned to see where she pointed. “Yes, it starts right past the large boulder. It’s not an easy path to find. You’re a good tracker.”

She jumped down from the wagon before it rolled to a complete stop. Staff in hand she started to climb.

Doward stopped the wagon, hobbled Shade and followed her up. At a fork in the trail she stopped and waited for Doward to catch up.

“We should take the trail to the left,” he said as he reached her. “Both will take us to the top, but the trail—” he gulped for breath, “—the one on the left, will bring us closer to where you came down the mountain.”

They went on for another quarter mile. Doward examined the ground and the skid marks Rebeka had made. He bent down and picked up something and handed it to her. “I think this is yours.”

In her hand was a crushed receipt for the audio player. “I was beginning to think I was going crazy. It isn’t much farther to the top. We can follow these marks.”

It was a difficult climb.

“Doward, follow me, put your foot here. Yes, that’s right.”

“Are you certain you’re not a mountain goat?” he panted.

“No, Doward. I’m an experienced mountain climber. Here give me your hand. We’re almost there. I want to thank you for your help. As soon as we get back to the Manor you must let me know how I can show my gratitude.”

They scrambled over the top and stood on a flat ridge almost half a mile wide. The ground was speckled with flat stones, some scattered, others embedded all around them. On the other side of the expanse was a drop into another valley. Rebeka made a complete circle to survey the area. A terrible tension coursed through her body. She broke out in a cold sweat as the blood drained from her face. “The stones aren’t here.” She stabbed at the ground with her staff.

She dug in her pouch for her phone, still no signal. Silently, she started back down the mountain. Screams of anger and frustration echoed in her head. Doing a controlled skid down the steep part of the climb, she reached the spot where she found the crushed ticket. She replaced her anger with determination. Taking a deep breath, and letting out a long exhale, she continued on until she reached the wagon. Only then did she turn to the old man.

“You knew I wouldn’t find the stones at the top of the mountain, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Rebeka. I did. But would you’ve listened to me if I told you? No, you needed to see for yourself. Let’s continue on to the village. I’ll help you get back any way I can but I think we both need time to think through this challenge.”

“Perhaps I can find answers at the reenactment.”

He didn’t respond.

Rebeka let him help her into the wagon. They rode on in silence. She closed her eyes and dismissed Doward from her mind. She imagined looking down on the sweeping parkland and Fayne Manor. Was it only yesterday? She held on to the image as long as she could. It was so inviting, so comforting. “To hearth and home,” she said softly.

Doward stared at her, a brief expression of incredulity on his face.

“What…” she began. But it was gone as soon as she started to speak. She must have imagined it.

It was a beautiful place, lush and full of life, and as they rode, Rebeka softly hummed, the horse’s pace marking time with her music. The melody soothed her. Perched on the wagon seat next to Doward, she cleaned her walking staff with an oiled cloth. The familiar repetitive motion anchored her. She had done all she could. Anger and frustration would only get in her way. She needed to think clearly and concentrate on finding the way back.

Doward smiled. “Your company is a welcome change from the solitude of my travels. And you are unique. Anyone else would be disoriented, unsettled and maybe even fearful but you seem to face everything straight on. I like your energy, the way you attack a problem, take charge and own it.”

She was thoughtful for a moment. “It’s all about maintaining control and making the right decisions.”

He nodded.

The forest was dense with tall trees and undergrowth. They rode on until the trail opened onto a clearing. Doward stopped the wagon and looked over the expanse.

“What is it, Doward?” She looked out across the clearing to a willow tree standing at the far end.

Doward stood to get a better view. “I was here only weeks ago and everything was healthy. How could the clearing change so quickly? In place of a healthy field, this clearing feels as though it is struggling to survive. The leaves on the trees are limp, the flowers on thin straggling stems, and the grass brown in spots. There’s an unease permeating the wind, the ground, everything. I can sense destruction beginning to take hold here. Soon this place will be dead.” He spoke sadly. “I wonder at the condition of the meadow beyond.” He stepped down from the wagon and waded through the tall dried grass heading toward the willow tree.

“I’ll go with you. I have some knowledge.”

Rebeka dug into the hard-packed ground to scrape up some earth. She examined the soil, rubbing it between her fingers, and closed her eyes to feel the grit and composition and estimate the water content. Bringing her fingers to her nose, she sought out additives and minerals. She moved on to the flora and pulled up sprigs of grass and stems of flowers to examine their roots and check their leaves. Her brows furrowed, she examined several areas the same way.

“It’s strange.” She approached Doward with her findings. “Some sections of the meadow are vibrant and healthy while others are dying as you said. I also found small burned areas possibly a result of direct lightning strikes. I suspect the strikes took place before the ground dried or the burnt areas would be larger. There’re no signs of infestation or any tainting.”

“Our conclusions are the same. This blight appears in different places but the results are the same. And they always start with lightning.”

The thunderous sound from the road behind them startled her. She felt the pounding of horses and heard the jingling of their tack before she could make out who approached them.

Doward looked up and smiled, his mood lightened. “It’s Lord Arik and three of his men. Ah, I see Logan, Arik’s brother is with them. We travel to Arik’s village. He’s a good man, and friend of King James.”

The men advancing were indeed on horseback and also in costume.
How many people were involved in the reenactment?
Rebeka felt uneasy. Every instinct in her screamed
beware.
She moved cautiously back toward the wagon and listened attentively to the exchange between the men.

“Good morrow, Doward. It is good to see you about.”

“Good morrow, Lord Arik. I hope you and your people are well.”

“Aye, they wait for your visit. They want your stories and songs as well as information from Easton.”

“What brings you so far from your estate?”

“My men and I are out on patrol. I wanted to see the impact this blight has had on the land. There is concern it will attack our crops and affect our winter food supply. We have not found any sign of the disturbance yet last night I felt something unsettling but could not make out what it was. When I saw you in the distance I hoped you’d have some word from the other villages or possibly you may have seen something on your travels.”

Rebeka felt his stare as Lord Arik looked over Doward’s shoulder and found her standing by the wagon.

“I too felt a disturbance of sorts. I sense there’s a pattern but I can’t see it clearly,” said Doward.

“Here, Simon, gather the water bags and get water,” Arik ordered, giving his man the water bag. “Logan, you and Willem check the meadow and see if there is anything worth noting.”

Arik didn’t recognize the woman with Doward. He made it his business to know as much as he could about everyone who lived on or near his lands in order to protect his domain, and wanted to know who this woman was before leaving. His horse pulled on the reins eager to be away but Arik was not finished yet. “Who’s the woman, Doward? Is she traveling with you?” His tone was direct. His words clipped. He wanted to make sure this woman wasn’t here to cause trouble. That was the last thing he needed.

Doward motioned to Rebeka. “Arik, this is Lady Rebeka. She was—” he hesitated, “—on her way to the village from London. I found her hurt, dazed and alone on the trail. We’re traveling together. I decided I would act as her escort.”

“Her escort! Doward, I mean you no disrespect but you can hardly act as protector. This woman puts you both in jeopardy.” Arik’s horse, Spirit, began prancing, startled by Arik’s outburst. He spit out the words, directing all his anger at Rebeka. What was the woman thinking letting an old man like Doward protect her?

Rebeka stood taller, planted her staff on the ground in a quiet but emphatic fashion and stared squarely into his eyes. “I can take care of myself thank you very much.”

Arik shifted his attention to her, taking a moment to take her in fully. He was used to facing men eye-to-eye. Most were intimidated and unable to hold his stare. He gave her his fiercest look, expecting her to look away, and was stunned to find her staring back at him in the same manner.
Arrogant,
he thought to himself. But there was also a spark of something he couldn’t pinpoint, an instant chemistry of recognition and challenge. He quickly hid his feelings, a practiced talent.

She wasn’t as adept. He saw the recognition in her eyes before she won control of her reaction. She registered confusion, a sense of disbelief, and white-hot anger.

Arik turned to take a full look at her. She probably came up to his shoulder. He marveled how the gold and copper flecks in her mahogany hair reflected in the sun. Although her hair was bound up, wisps fell in gentle waves, framing her oval face. He thought her skin looked soft to touch and was vibrant and healthy even through the bruises. Her mouth was full and inviting, her white teeth perfectly straight. But it was her deep-set eyes—an extraordinary shade of violet shot through with flecks of silver—that held his attention. He saw intelligence in them, and passion. The intelligence was a surprise. The passion, well, he stirred that in many women.

Rebeka wrapped herself tighter in the cloak. Arik’s scrutiny made her feel exposed. Uncomfortable under his stare, she didn’t look away. She refused to give him that power.

Seated on his horse, he forced her to look up at him. It was a purposeful tactic, giving him the advantage. Smiling to herself, she knew what he meant to convey and didn’t buy it for a minute. It would take more than a few inches to intimidate her. She stood her ground. He had the advantage and picking a fight was out of the question. But she wouldn’t be bullied either.

“Doward said he found you on the trail. How do you come to be unescorted?” His voice was controlled but she could tell he was annoyed. His attitude could use an adjustment but she didn’t have the time or the inclination to move on it. Her patience was wearing thin.

“I have no idea.” She tossed the words back at him a bit more tartly than she intended. She couldn’t believe he had the audacity to interrogate her. Who did he think he was, the local guardian angel on horseback!
He’s playacting, for God’s sake.

Doward stepped in. “Arik,” he said slowly, “she tumbled down the mountain from The Ridge.”

She glared straight into his eyes. Rebeka was used to men scrutinizing her but she felt this man was not only judging her looks but also her character. She was surprised when she read the smirk on his face and realized he found her lacking. Perhaps he was unaccustomed to a woman not swooning over him. Two could play this game and she would not back down.

He was tall, probably over six feet. He couldn’t hide his muscular body under his close-fitting woolen britches, loose white shirt and leather vest. Every part of him, legs, arms and chest looked powerful. His voice was deep and melodic. It almost hypnotized her.

Everything about him spoke of command and control. She felt him more savage than civilized, tinged with a sense of danger. She suspected in a crowd, people were compelled to move out of his way. This was a man with whom you could not reason.

But there was something outside her reach. Something she could not grasp made her feel this man was important to her. She felt bound to him in some way, which made no sense at all.

Something—the tilt of his head, the look in his eyes, or maybe the angle of the light, she wasn’t certain—jolted her. Her heart pounded as she realized she had seen him before. In the Grand Gallery at Fayne Manor, staring at her from the wall.
The painting.
She recalled a light touch she had felt that had reminded her of a kiss. Her fingers lightly touched the spot.
This is impossible. He must be a descendent, a throwback to the ancient gene pool. It would explain his “lord of the Manor” attitude.
She looked at him again.
But if I’m the last survivor who is he? Maybe he’s an actor look-alike, overbearing personality and all. I need time to put these pieces together. Perhaps George knows this Arik.

“Doward, you and the woman will come back to the Manor with us. We’ll sort this out there. You’ll not travel without an escort. These are hard times. We’ll meet you in the meadow beyond the willow.” It was not a request or even an invitation, but an order. She liked him less every minute.

“Yes, Arik, and many thanks for your help. Come, m’lady.” Doward and Rebeka walked to the wagon. “Arik must not be kept waiting.”

“Arik must not be kept waiting!” Eyes wide and mouth agape, she stared at Doward in disbelief. “Doward, who is he to tell us what to do? If you’re concerned I can’t take care of myself, please be assured I’m more than capable of standing my own ground.”

“He
is
the lord here whether you like it or not.” Doward stopped and turned to her. “Trust me. Do not fight me on this. He’s in control here and you may need his help to get back where you belong. If I were you, I would temper my speech before I spoke.”

She looked at Arik as he inspected the field with his men. “Doward.” She hesitated. “Surely you don’t mean to humor him. Are we going to actually let them escort us?” She turned to Doward. His expression implored her to trust him. “You’re right.” She held her hand up in surrender. “He is the authority here and I may need his help but I certainly don’t have to like him or his attitudes.”

“I am glad you see the right of things.”

They got in the wagon and began to move down the trail into the next meadow. They would wait for the men there. Rebeka was distracted and deep in thought. Trying to make sense of things, she made a mental list:
inheritance, Fayne Manor, the portrait, Avebury, the tumble, Doward and now Arik, correction, “Lord” Arik.
She saw no pattern. She couldn’t begin to understand why Arik affected her. She shook her head, trying to clear it.
Doward said Arik was a friend of King James. Did he mean James I of England? He was King about 1604.
She added the facts to her mental list. They couldn’t all be part of a reenactment and staying in character.
Although it is Beltane, and maybe this Arik character thinks he can go around the countryside making demands. Some women would actually welcome his macho kind of dominance. Me man, you woman.

She moved to the back of the wagon and tried her phone again. Still no signal. She threw the phone back into her pouch and looked out the back of the wagon. They passed the willow, entering into a larger meadow dominated in the middle by an old oak that appeared to be dying. They passed the once majestic tree and stopped in front of the stone signpost to wait for the men. Rebeka stared at the clearly etched words.
Fayne Manor.

A surge of bewilderment rushed through her.
Wait a minute.
She pulled out her digital camera, checked the pictures she took the day before and clicked off several new ones. She set pairs of pictures side by side on the display and compared them. The placement of trees and the dimensions of the meadow were identical. But there could be many meadows that looked similar. She changed the pictures to the stone signpost. They were the same. There was no denying it.
This is Oak Meadow, but it’s so different from yesterday.
Yesterday’s green and vibrant meadow was brown and withered. The leaves on the oak, even its mighty branches, had drastically deteriorated since yesterday.

Her blood ran cold. Beads of sweat ran down her temple and gathered on her lip. Was this all a vision? The throbbing of her thigh told her it wasn’t. Physically shaken, she took advantage of the delay and got out of the wagon. She stood at the edge of the meadow, then walked over to the signpost and ran her hand over the cold hard stone. The wind picked up. She watched and waited, focusing all her attention on the oak. From somewhere she heard Arik.

“Woman, get in the wagon.” She hesitated, and looked at the oak one last time. She strained to see under the oak’s branches. She could feel someone there. Where was he?

Needing time to think, she got into the wagon and brought her attention back to the people around her. There were two riders in front of her, Arik and his brother.
What was his name? Logan, yes, that was it.
They had an easy relationship. Arik was definitely the leader, and while the two men behind the wagon were subordinates, Logan held a different position. Both men had a commanding presence and exuded masculinity, but Arik had a rugged, more vital power that attracted her. She watched their backs and noticed that without seeing their faces it would be difficult to tell them apart.
No, I’d know Arik anywhere.