Sanctuary (Dominion) (21 page)

“You want me to go back? To this witch?”

“It’s for a good cause, Ewen.”

"Father,” he bit his lip, “this is asking a lot.”

"You have a debt to me, yes? I’m giving you an easy way to repay it. When I arrived here, I was content with waiting. But after what happened with you, whatever it was, I can't wait any longer. It's clear now that God has a plan for me, and it doesn't involve spending the winter here. You were part of this journey, and this woman is the next step. I need your help to find her."

"I don't think you realize how dangerous this is."

“More dangerous than defying a pack of Vikings?"

"You saw what I’d almost become,” Ewen said, his intonation dire. “You tell me."

I stared back at him, my gaze not giving up an inch, no matter how scared I was inside. I knew how risky this favor would be, for both of us. But I needed to go. By not showing up, Arkael had abandoned me twice, and I knew now that I was a fool for expecting him to come. The only option I had left was to take my search to the people who could lead me to him. “Just take me to her, Ewen. Then you can go home, and see your family. I promise.”

Ewen shook his head in frustration. "How do you expect to get there? It’ll take a week if we go on foot, and you’re hurt."

"Don’t worry about me. It’s not that bad,” I lied. “I’ll be on my feet in days.”

Ewen looked at me reproachfully, but I could tell that he’d given in. He would take me to Ynys Mon, to this island of druids on the other side of Britain, where I would find this woman and finally begin to answer the questions that had been tearing me apart since that fateful day in Rogwallow. The path was clear, for once, and I wouldn’t stray from it until I’d learned the secrets of Heaven and Hell.

“I don’t think you understand what you’re asking me to do, Father,” he said, “but, I will take you. I only hope that when we get there, you’re spared the terrible fate that I had to suffer. I had you to heal me. Who will you have?”

He brought up a valid point. Unfortunately, his words mixed with every other jarring thought racing around my mind, and I didn’t entirely heed them. He turned to leave again.

“Ewen,” he stopped again, and glanced back, but his expression was less than friendly this time. “Thank you.” He bowed his head, and left the room, leaving me to excitedly ponder my change in fortune. 

Chapter 17

When Pepin returned a moment later, carrying my cup, the lines around his eyes crinkled, a sign that he was either squinting at me, or thinking very diligently about something. He set the cup on the table then returned to the chair in the corner. I leaned back in my bed, staring at the ceiling, until Pepin cleared his throat.

“Ynys Mon?” he asked, and I nodded absently. “What is it?”

“The home of the druids.” I was lost in thought, contemplating this new development, but when I glanced over at Pepin, he stared back as if he expected me to keep talking, so I did. “It’s an island, in Wales, west of here. The Druids claim it’s a magical place, where their power is strongest. Of course, that power didn’t help when the Romans massacred them, but that’s inconsequential. What matters is that it all fits. I keep finding these little pieces of information that don’t make sense individually, but when I put them together, I can see the lines that connect them. It’s a sign, Pepin. God is laying out a course. He’s been doing it all this time.” I looked directly at him. “He wants me to find this woman.”

“Interesting,” Pepin said, thoughtfully. “And how will you do that? How will you get out of the city?”

I grunted. I’d somehow forgotten that Eoferwic was overrun with Vikings. “I’m not leaving at this very moment. I have some time to figure that out.”

“I’m curious to hear what you come up with,” Pepin said. I sighed.

“You know, Oslac is right. This is a plague. And it’s not just these Vikings. I see bloodshed everywhere, and no one stops it. Everything we preach in the church is lost on men who don’t fear for their souls. That needs to change.” Pepin said nothing. “I need to leave,” I said, and reached carefully for my drink, sniffing the dark liquid. It smelled like some kind of fruit wine. “I just need some help.”

“This is important?”

“Of course it is. This is God’s plan for me. Nothing could be more important.”

“If you say so, then I will go, too.”

“Pepin, this could be dangerous,” I said, aware that I was repeating Ewen’s warning to me. “Very dangerous.”

"You have already left me behind once. Are you already past your guilt enough that you can do it again?"

I had no argument for him. Whatever his reasons, he wanted to go with me on this journey, and I had to admit, I would need the help. Traveling across Britain at the onset of winter would not be easy, and another hand might make the difference in surviving. Perhaps this was yet another sign, a much more obvious one than the others. Pepin was the same man who had first pointed me to Rogwallow during my travels in Frankia, after all. An argument could be made that the journey had started with him.

"Okay."

"Okay?" he asked suspiciously. "Okay, as in you will let me go with you, or you will trick me and sneak out in the middle of the night without me? Which okay are you saying to me right now?"

"You can go with me. I owe you that much."

He looked at me, waiting for the caveat, but I didn't give him one. So he just nodded curtly. "Okay." He leaned forward in his chair and rested his head on his hands, thinking. “Leaving will be difficult.”

“We’ll have to sneak out then?” I asked.

He smiled at me. “I think not. You stay here and rest. I will figure out this problem.” He stood and walked to the door. “I will be back as soon as I can. Don’t leave without me.”

I held out my good arm, and motioned to the rest of me, reminding him of my condition. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

A quick wave of his hand and he was gone, leaving me to wonder not only how a former church clerk would get us out of a city overrun by Vikings, but why I had faith that he could do it.

*****

Three days passed before I saw Pepin again. During that time, my injuries healed well enough that by the third day I could walk without limping or hunching over to my right. My knee was still tight, and my body ached more than usual, but those were minor concerns. My chest was slow to catch up, however. I still had a large purple blotch on the side of my torso, and even though the pain had faded, I still had trouble doing anything that required a lot of pressure or strain on my ribs. But other than that, I felt good. More than that, though, I felt anxious to get away from this place.

Pepin hadn’t said how long he would be gone, so after that first day, I spent most of my time convinced that he’d gotten himself killed trying to sneak around outside. I wanted to go looking for him once I could get out of bed, but that proved challenging. Even though the Danes had left the church grounds and most of the north half of the plaza alone, they’d taken the estates on the southern side. That meant Danish guards wandered the grounds opposite us constantly, and they watched us like hawks eying prey when we stepped into their view. Not willing to venture outside, I decided instead to try a safer, yet similarly challenging, means of searching the city. I made my way to Rothward’s office in the church, gritted my teeth, and labored up the stairs of the tower. At the top I found a ransacked storeroom, devoid of anything of value. Broken, overturned crates and ripped bags littered the floor, although there seemed to be some semblance of order to it all, as if someone had already come through here and tried to clean up. I stepped around the debris and moved to the window slits on each wall, scouring the city for anything that would settle my nerves, but all I saw was a city that looked almost the same as it had before the Vikings came. And I certainly couldn’t see any sign of Pepin.

On the second day, I’d grown tired of resting, so I moved to the library, the only large room left in the church not taken over by displaced families. In fact, the library had barely been touched by the Danes, who cared little for words on paper. After a few hours of laboriously writing notes in my journal, I packed those pages away and opened the church’s copy of Bede’s
Ecclesiastical History of the English
, a book written nearly a hundred years ago by a monk in Jarrow. Fortunately, our copy had survived the attack, a miracle of its own for me, because I’d read this book voraciously as a young man. Just as I began to lose myself in his stories once again, the door opened and two figures stepped into the room with me.

"You want to take Ewen with you to Ynys Mon?" Eadwyn asked, not at all pleased. Oslac stood behind him, though his face belied a more relaxed attitude than Eadwyn’s. "To find his whore?" He spoke the last word in a hushed tone, even though we three were the only ones in the room.

“Do we know that for certain?” I countered, setting the book down. “Everything about him is unknown. He’s admitted to none of the things we hold against him.”

Eadwyn’s eyes widened, taken aback either by my words or the fact that I was disagreeing with him.

“Daniel, what can you possibly learn by going out there? You are playing a dangerous game with your soul just for considering this. What if she’s exactly what we think she is? What is your plan then? Praying for her will not cure Ewen of his madness. I should know. I’ve seen more than enough men like him pass through here who only get worse.”

“Ewen is already better. Perhaps I want to see if the same can said of this woman.”

"Daniel,” Eadwyn put his hand on my shoulder, “I truly believe that Ewen is not a bad man, not inherently, but I've seen his bouts of madness, and I recognize it. It is a disease of the flesh, born of lust. That’s all it is. This is just a respite from his disease, before it gets worse. It’s not safe to travel alone with him. He struggles with it, yes, but if it were to overtake him, he could kill you, and out there in the wilds of Wales, who would even know about it?"

"I’m willing to take that chance,” I explained. I didn’t fear Ewen anymore, but they wouldn’t understand that. I’d decided not to tell any of the others what happened between Ewen and I. They wouldn’t believe it, anyway, not until I could better understand it myself. “This is important to me. I feel as if I've been called to do this. I can’t tell you how or why, but there is a message from God in all of this, and I have to see it through.”

Eadwyn wanted to retort, I could see it in his face, but he couldn’t. We were both men of God, and if I claimed that He had called on me to do His will, then Eadwyn couldn’t deny me that opportunity. Eadwyn looked past me, to the wooden cross hanging on the wall, his mouth tight. Finally, he bowed his head. “I shall pray for you, then. May God show you the error of your ways.”

He stormed out of the library without even looking at me. I shook my head in frustration. I never intended for this to ruin my relationship with Eadwyn. But he would see the truth. Oslac didn’t follow right away, winking at me instead and slapping me on the shoulder.

“Chasing down a whore, eh?”

I sighed heavily. “I know it sounds foolish, but I have my reasons.”

“We all have reasons that don’t make sense, boy. The trick is getting others to think they do.”

He smiled and left. His lack of concern troubled me at first, but then I remembered his warning to me the day I arrived, and I guessed he was just happy that I'd decided to listen to him. Although it bothered me that I still didn't know the reason for that warning.

Pepin returned to the church the following day. He found me in my room, writing notes in my journal about the Viking attack, and when I saw the diminutive Frank standing at my door, I leapt up, clasped his shoulders, and tried my best to hold back an onslaught of questions.

“So,” I said, “any news?”

“Plenty.” I sat on my bed and he took my chair and began relating the details of Eoferwic’s occupation. According to him, the Danes were being careful not to give the Northumbrians too many reasons to revolt. Just as Oslac predicted, they were here to claim land, not to slaughter us, and that meant restrictions in the city would be eased soon. In fact, there were rumblings that they would eventually install a new King, a Northumbrian, which would settle everyone’s nerves. Once that happened, everyone in the city would be taxed as they were before and life would return to normal, or as normal as it could be, given the situation. He also revealed that I’d been the subject of talk in the city.

“They like you,” he said. “The Danes, they talk of the little priest who stood up to Alric, their mighty warrior. Alric himself said that had he not killed so many English on his way to the church, then he would have killed everyone in the building to sate his bloodthirst. But, by then he was tired, and you amused him.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I speak their language. Not as well as I speak yours, but well enough.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said, surprised, though not as much as I should have been. “So I owe my life to the fact that a Viking lost his appetite for blood?”

“I suppose you could say that, yes.”

I shook my head, trying not to think about how close to death I came. “So can we leave? Or are they keeping us here?”

“They are being cautious. They must defend against whoever comes to take the city back, and they don’t want the English stabbing them in the back when they do. Or reporting their numbers and defenses to English armies.”

“So we’re stuck here?”

“No. I can get us out. I’ve arranged things with a Dane who can help us. If that’s what you still want.”

“Yes! The sooner the better,” I said, forgetting in my excitement to ask what kind of arrangements he’d made.

“Good. I think, then, that I will make it happen sooner.”

*****

We waited two more days before it was safe enough to leave Eoferwic. Pepin had somehow garnered the trust of the Danes, and that allowed him to come and go as he pleased. I don’t know how he managed to do that, but I guess I decided I didn't really want to know. Pepin's behavior, which seemed endearing and selfless at first, was starting to make me feel uncomfortable, and I began to wonder if he might be hiding things that I wouldn't approve of. I tried not to dwell on that, though. I reminded myself that I’d been given an opportunity, and I wasn’t keen on questioning how it happened.

Pepin had gathered our clothes and supplies the day before, and he’d somehow left the city to bury it all outside. He claimed that we’d have to leave dressed as beggars, or at least poor enough not to attract any attention from Danes looking to steal what little we might have. So everything we would need for the trip west would be waiting for us outside. Once he left again, Ewen retreated to the stables, claiming to the others that his head hurt more than usual, which would keep everyone away. I left him alone, as well. I’d already subjected him to a major undertaking, and he would need to be rested for the trip, which would be demanding in this weather.

Eadwyn may have hated the idea of this pursuit, but he kept any mention of it to himself. No one else at the church seemed to know that I planned on leaving. Either that, or the trauma of the last few days left them with more important things to think about than me. Eadwyn stayed to the offices or the church most of the time, and avoided me altogether. Agnes continued with her duties, but without much enthusiasm. Aengus dove into his own work, along with helping Eadwyn, and while the children still played, even including those now staying in the church, their excitement seemed muted. I couldn’t help but wonder if I was making the same mistake I’d made at Rogwallow, leaving behind a broken and scarred community that could use me. But just as I had at Rogwallow, I convinced myself that the rewards of my quest would ultimately help them more than a hobbled priest handing out scraps of food and blessings.

Pepin arrived the next day, along with some thread-worn old clothes that stank of pigs. He stashed them in the stables, which were empty because the horses had been taken by Danes, and he told us to meet him back there in the afternoon. He wanted to leave late in the day, when most of the Danish leaders would begin their feasting, and the guards would be much less stringent in their duties. When we reconvened in the stables that afternoon, Pepin gave Ewen and I the clothes, and told us to muddy our faces and hands. The smell from the clothes, along with the mud, would make us look like slaves from the swine pens, and that should be enough to keep any curious Danes from looking at us too closely.

The pangs of regret came just before we left, as I knew they would. However, unlike Rogwallow, this time I was far more certain I was doing the right thing. We walked past Eadwyn’s office, and I saw the light of a lamp shining under the door. Even though I wanted to say goodbye, I didn’t. I suppose that was a cowardly thing to do, but I couldn’t think of anything to say to him, and I knew he wouldn’t approve of this anyway. I only prayed that I’d see him again soon, hopefully with something to show for my journey.

We left the church grounds, in our disguises, and crossed the lifeless, empty square. A few Danes lounged in front of the southern estates, and they watched us as we passed but made no move to harass us. We left the plaza, and quietly walked through the city streets to the western gate.

Half a dozen Danes stood guard at that gate, and I worried they might stop us, but to my surprise they barely looked our way beyond a curious glance to see what we were trying to carry out of the city. Pepin spoke briefly in their own language, and they asked a few disinterested questions, then they let us pass without trouble. We walked through the tall, stone archway and onto the beaten dirt path leading southwest, away from Eoferwic and its misfortunes, and toward a land of myth, legend and desperate hope.

Part 3

Ynys Mon

Chapter 18

It took five days for us to reach Ynys Mon, and none of them were easy. Our journey took us west, through Northumbria, south into Mercia, and then west again into Wales across difficult terrain. We very nearly traveled from one edge of Britain to the other, and all the while kept a wary lookout for Danes, bandits or any other kind of trouble that may find us on the way. The Danes let us leave the city without hassle, but that didn't mean a roving party of them wouldn't try to waylay us if we were caught out in the open. Having them steal everything we owned wasn't even our worst fear. They could drag us off to a slave market, where we'd be sold and shipped to some strange land to serve masters we'd never known before today. So we took no chances. We stayed near cover, and used the forests and valleys to stay low and out of sight.

Shortly after leaving Eoferwic, Pepin led us to a valley with a burned-out house in the center. He’d stored our things in the remains of the small stable just behind, and once we retrieved them we changed back into cleaner, more comfortable clothes. I’d packed warmer attire than when I left Rogwallow, as well as a little more food, but regardless of how much we brought, we’d have to be judicious with it. We had, by my estimation, enough food to get to Ynys Mon and back, hopefully with the woman Ewen spoke of, and that was it.

“We stay to the valleys,” Pepin said. “We will be harder to see, that way.”

He held a wicked-looking blade in his left hand, the outer edge serrated and curved, the inner smooth, with a hook at the base. He hadn’t been carrying it when we left the city, which meant he’d probably buried it along with our clothes. But the sight of it gave me pause. I could understand a clerk carrying a blade while traveling alone for safety, but not like this one. This was a weapon made for killing in the most vicious, painful way possible. I’d have asked him about it, but at the time I actually thought it prudent. We were in dangerous lands. Why quibble over the only protection we had?

Just before sunset, we reached Winred Hill, or what was left of it. The homes and farms were nothing more than shells or piles of charred wood. The carcasses of two dogs and a cow greeted us at the edge of the village, and a small mound of dismembered and charred bodies lay smoking in what used to be the center. The Danes had ravaged the place. It couldn't have been long ago, either. The embers were still warm. I approached the mound, ignoring the pungent smell and my own revulsion, and I prayed for the souls of those who died here. I could see women and children mixed amongst the bodies in front of me, and I fought back tears, wondering once again what anyone in this village had done to deserve such a fate. We moved on after that, deciding it was better to camp somewhere else.

Ewen's transformation proved to be no fluke. Gone was the quiet, introspective giant with halting speech and mannerisms, and eyes that never looked directly at you. In its place was an intelligent, good-natured man who chatted casually, almost eagerly, about any kind of topic any of us brought up. I learned a lot about him, almost as much as he learned about himself, having forgotten much about his past. He still had holes in his memory, but he told us how he'd been a Mercian soldier in his youth, captured by Welshmen while scouting the border along Offa's Dyke, the man-made barrier built a hundred years ago between Mercia and Wales. From there, he'd been sold to the Irish raiders on Ynys Mon, who took him to the woman's hut where his nightmare began. Of that, he still remembered little, but he reveled in the other details of his life that had been taken from him, thinking back to his favorite childhood memories, or telling me about the woman he'd been in love with only a year ago, a woman he hoped to see again soon.

He asked me how I'd been able to heal him, and I told him the honest answer - I had no idea. I explained what I saw when I touched him, the dark images that pounded me in the chest as they flitted through my mind, each one forcing me deeper into despair and sickness. Those images were familiar to him, too, but not because he took part in any of them. Neither of us could fully explain what happened, though, beyond attributing it to God working in ways only He could understand. I only wished I did, too.

By the end of the next day, we reached the town of Lodis, which hadn't yet fallen to the Danes, but had busily begun preparing its defenses in preparation for an attack. We were able to stay there the night, sleeping in the stables of the church, under the supervision of a talkative old beggar named Artagnou who frequented the place. The priests there were kind enough to spare some food and drink, and an extra blanket each, to help with the cold. We ate breakfast at a tavern across the road from the church, and made sure to ask about any rumors of nearby Danish war parties. No one knew of any that were dangerously close, though, so we set out once again, staying to the low ground. The second day proved to be as uneventful as the first, and after pushing on into the evening, we reached Manchester just as the sun set and the biting cold swooped across the land. Manchester represented the south west boundary of Northumbria, and more importantly, the farthest reach of the Danes. We stayed at a church again, and according to the priests and clerks, no one had heard of any raids nearby. Hopefully that meant we wouldn’t have to worry about being waylaid by any roving war parties. At least not Danish ones.

Later that night, after Ewen had fallen asleep, I had a chance to finally sate my curiosity and ask Pepin about his knife.

“It belonged to a man in Poitiers,” he told me. “He had been a terrible man once, and he came to the church to renounce his past. He wanted the blade out of his hands, to resist temptations and so he wouldn’t be reminded of the things he’d done with it. So I took it.”

“Did it work? Did he reform?”

“He killed himself.” Pepin shrugged and stared at the blade. “It happens a lot.”

By the third day, my newfound zeal at being a champion of God had lost some of its luster. The countless hours of walking gave me little to do other than contemplate how treacherous this adventure could be. And by this point, whatever fire originally fueled my eagerness to see this woman was quickly dying out, only to be replaced by rational concerns. We asked everyone we spoke to about Ynys Mon, but news of the island was ominous and vague, at best. Some said a thousand wicked Irishmen lived there now, with more showing up every day. They were pagans, with sorcerers who turned their enemies into toads, or skinned them, and wore the bloody flesh as protection from the Christians. Some claimed that they were sacrificing their own women in crazed pagan rituals, and that’s why no one had seen any Irishwomen on the island. It sounded ridiculous, but also frighteningly believable. A few key pieces of information did seem to be genuine, though. They were led by a powerful warrior named Cullach, and they were here to wage war on Britain. We were walking into a snake's den, and I'd foolishly thought we could escape without being bitten. Now, though, as we moved ever closer to Ynys Mon, and the Irish raiders who inhabited it, all I could see were the fangs, and I cursed my reckless bravado.