Sanctuary (Dominion) (24 page)

"I don't think we should wait here,” Ewen angled toward the side door, near Pepin. “We should get back to the docks before sunrise and leave."

"It’s too dark,” I said. I stood and paced about in front of the altar. “We should stay here a while. We'll be safe in the church."

"How do you know that?"

I shrugged. "The village was destroyed, but the church still stands. We're safe here."

"No. We're safer on the other side of the water. It's dark outside, they won’t have any scouts out, and they wouldn't be able to spot us even if they did. We should run."

We should run, I thought. We should run fast and far away. But I didn’t say that because I believed what I'd told him, that the fact the church still stood, unmarked, meant something. What it meant was a harder question to answer.

"She doesn’t move well,” I said, using the easiest excuse I could think of to placate them, “and I don’t trust her to stay quiet if we make her leave. I want to study her first, and see if I can learn anything that might be useful. Until then the church will be our sanctuary."

"Like it was in Eoferwic?"

I frowned at Ewen’s words, and at his patronizing attitude. He certainly wasn’t afraid to speak his mind any more. "I saw this church when I healed her. The one vision that sticks with me more than any of the others had this very church in it.” I pointed at the floor for effect. “That is a sign from God, Ewen, and I will not take it lightly, not after finally making progress. The church is our sanctuary,” I repeated. “You must believe me."

Ewen sniffed loudly and returned to the chancel in a huff. Pepin sat cross-legged on the floor, watching us quietly. I ran my hand through my hair, trying to remain pragmatic about our situation. Ewen’s words, as pointed as they were, sounded reasonable to me, and I hoped I wasn't just being stubborn. I reminded myself that God brought me here, to this island, to this building, with this woman, and I couldn’t walk away from that until I understood why. But what was so important about a filthy, raving, hermit of a woman, living alone in a hut in a burned down village, and what was I supposed to do with her if I couldn’t heal her? There was a reason behind this madness, and it continued to escape me. I stared at her brown, unfocused eyes, hoping a sign, or some sort of understanding would present itself, but I had no such luck. I would have to figure this out on my own. 

“I have to admit,” I said, looking at the woman but speaking to Ewen and Pepin, “I’m not really sure what to make of her. She doesn’t seem capable of speaking to us, so she can’t tell me anything useful. Maybe we could go back to her house and look for some-“

"Shhh!" Pepin held up his hand, listening. "Horses!" he whispered.

Ewen hurried to the north window and peeked out. "God help us,” he muttered. “God help us! There’s someone on a horse out there, at the edge of the village. With a torch. They're circling around, looking for her."

Pepin shot up from the ground and grabbed his pack. He hurried to the south door and cracked it open.

"How many?" I asked.

"I see two of them now,” Ewen said. “They’re coming closer."

“One on this side,” Pepin whispered.

"It’s the Irish!" Ewen said, his eyes bulging. "We should go, now!"

"How?” I asked, pretending to be calm, even though my insides churned. “We’re surrounded.”

"We wait until they give us an opening,” Pepin said, still peeking outside. “Then, we sneak out and make a run for it.”

Ewen nodded in agreement. “They’ll kill us if they find us in here with her."

“If we try to escape with her, they’ll hear us. She might scream again.”

“Then we leave her!” Ewen whispered forcefully. “Let them find her and they’ll never know we were here.”

I stood my ground. “I didn’t come this far just to leave her behind. Not after all we’ve been through.” Ewen and Pepin looked at me like I was crazy, and the furtive glance they gave each other made it even worse. But I wouldn’t be cowed.

"Daniel-" Pepin said, before I cut him off.

"I'm supposed to be dead," I said, squaring my shoulders, daring them to interrupt me. "I should have died in Rogwallow. Or in Eoferwic. But God spared me both times, and this," I pointed to the woman, "is my best hope for understanding why. I don't know what these men outside intend to do with us, but I do know this - God didn’t bring me all the way out here just to be cut down by heathens.”

I moved next to the woman, and held out my hand. She looked at it curiously, then took it and stood up, waiting next to me. I hoped what I said was true. These Irishmen could be brutal savages, who would just as soon slay us and stick our heads on a pike for daring to cross their lands. But if that were true, why was the woman still alive? Did she hold power over them? I looked at her, and my mind drifted back to the dream I had in Eoferwic. This wasn’t the woman I dreamt of. That woman was beautiful and regal, though sad. This woman seemed broken in every sense of the word. But that didn’t make her any less important.

“I should run,” I began, “But I can't, because my life is no longer mine. It belongs to God." More words I hadn’t meant to say, but they seemed to fit perfectly now that I’d spoken them. "If you two are able to make it out of here, then you should go. But I’m staying here with her, and I will trust in God to protect us."

We turned and faced the front door, and I listened for the sound of footsteps running out the door behind me. But I heard none. They’d decided to stay, and I was grateful for that. I only hoped I hadn't doomed them.

The sound of hoof steps drew near, along with muffled shouting, and I felt the woman squeeze my arm, though her eyes never left the floor. A long, tense moment later, the front door flew open, and several tall men strode inside, warriors, dressed in dark colors and carrying torches that sent long, sharp shadows dancing about on the walls behind us. They wore layers of black-stained wool and leather, but no armor, though they carried swords at their side. They saw us immediately.

"She's in here!" the first one through the door shouted, holding his torch up to see the four of us better. "And she isn't alone!"

Swords came free of their scabbards, and I felt my chest tighten, as did the woman's grip on my arm. I glanced over to see her head swaying back and forth slowly, a faint hum escaping her lips. I backed up a step without thinking, then stopped, determined not to run away.

A total of eight armed men entered the church, each of them dangerous and severe, ready to attack if we gave them a reason to. The ninth person, however, was a small, thin man, slightly hunched, with sinewy, tattooed arms that showed through a sleeveless robe. He wore a thick, fur shawl over his shoulders, and a pointed face dominated by a large nose stared at us from under a headdress of sharpened rib bones arrayed like a peacock’s tail behind a painted horse skull. His beady eyes darted around, finding the woman first, then settling on me.

"What is this?" he hissed in an accent that was surprisingly not Irish. He stepped forward slowly, resting his weight on a gnarled, wooden walking stick. His movements took him on a wobbly path that first veered far to the left, and then back toward us. Or rather, her. "She's left her home. She never leaves her home." He looked the woman up and down, clearly surprised. He turned to me. "Never."

I wasn't sure if I should say anything in response, but the longer he watched me, the longer he held the silence, a silence I felt a strong need to fill.

"I... I brought her here... to," I stammered, hating myself for even talking to this vile man. Somehow, his glare alone made me feel accused, "to be safe. The church is a... holy place." I hesitated at those last words, knowing he was a pagan, who probably cared little about the sanctity of the church.

He regarded me like a cat with its paw on a wounded mouse, watching it squirm. "That it is. A holy place, indeed. And you speak for the power that resides here?"

"I... no, I... I do not. I found this woman in her hut, and I brought her here to take care of her. She is not well. Obviously."

"She never leaves her home," he said again, his small eyes darting back and forth between me and her. "How did you get her here?"

"I just led her... sire. I tried to help her, with God’s help, and then I brought her here-"

“God?” he asked, and his expression became sinister, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed.

“I-”, I hesitated, clearly not sure what kind of danger I could be inviting. “Yes. With God’s help. That’s why this church still stands.”

The man raised his eyebrow at me. "That is a lie. But it’s a lie you would believe, wouldn’t you?” He spat on the floor, a deliberate sign of disrespect. “I am Lorcan, sorcerer and councilor to Cullach, who rules this island. This woman, Avaline, belongs to me, and I will take her back now."

He stepped closer, and tentatively reached for the woman's arm, Avaline's arm, as if afraid to disturb her. Her gaze never left the ground, but she instinctively moved out of his reach, keeping me between her and the sorcerer. Lorcan frowned, and then lunged for her, grabbing her arm. Avaline screamed, a piercing wail that echoed throughout the building, and she flailed wildly while Lorcan struggled to keep a grip on her.

"Wait, she's not well!" I said. "You mustn't try to force her-“

Several men came forward and grabbed her, bumping me out of the way, but she continued to writhe and yell, making it difficult for them to control her.

"Put her down!" Lorcan shouted, and his men dropped her, and backed away. He rounded on me, his eyes blazing. "You! You brought her here, you bring her out. Show me how you did it, or I will have you skinned and boiled alive like a Christian hare."

I moved next to Avaline, who lay on the ground, whimpering, but I could still hear the rhythms of her song mixed in. I leaned over, putting my hand carefully on her shoulder.

"Avaline. I promise everything will be okay. Just... stand up, if you can. All right?"

She glanced up, looking toward me, but not directly at me. The confusion on her face faded, and she seemed to calm down. She reached a twitching, jittery hand out and I helped her to her feet. She held my arm, and leaned in close.

"Avaline. That's a beautiful name. Mine is Daniel. Will you walk with me a bit?"

She allowed me to lead her away from everyone, toward the door, and Lorcan watched me the entire time, fascinated.

"The witch has a pet," he said, a sneer on his face.

Chapter 21

Pepin disappeared. As Lorcan's men escorted us out, I turned to see Ewen behind us, but no sign of the Frank. He must have slipped out just before Lorcan and his men walked in, without anyone even noticing. I should have been elated that he escaped, because of the three of us, Pepin's resourcefulness would come in handy if mounting a rescue attempt. But I didn't feel that way. In all honesty, I felt deserted. Twice now, he'd run away when danger came, and I couldn't tell if it was because he was prudent, or a coward.

Ewen didn't go easily. He tried to run, but Lorcan's men tackled him, held him down and beat him. I protested, only to be cuffed across the mouth. One of the Irishmen claimed to recognize Ewen as "the one who escaped" and Lorcan agreed. They held Ewen down and tied him up, and Lorcan promised to "do it right, this time," words that sent a chill down my spine. A leash was tied to his wrist bindings and Ewen was led out of the church like an animal. I watched him, heartbroken, as we were taken from the village, but he kept his head down. I wished he'd look at me, though. I needed to see the despair on his face, so I would know he blamed me for this as much as I blamed myself.

We walked through the night, alongside the men on horseback. They kept a slow pace, surrounding us, but making no attempt to bind Avaline or myself. Lorcan sat on a horse next to me and rummaged through my satchel. I winced at the thought of him tossing out everything I owned and leaving it for the wolves, but he left nothing behind. He flipped through the pages of my journal and stared at my notes, though I'm not sure he could read them. Then he sniffed my cup, and scowled at my extra robe, but he left everything as it was. After that, Lorcan spent the rest of the trip riding some distance behind us, although I still felt his eyes on me, and every time I looked back, he watched me with a crooked grin. It was obvious that he had no love for Christians, which didn’t bode well for me once we reached his camp. His surprise at seeing Avaline in the church was likely the main reason I still lived. I'd done something he couldn’t do. That made me useful, and useful meant alive. At least for a while.

Avaline moved slowly, but she never appeared tired, or protested at the long journey, and as long as she kept her hand on my arm she didn’t stop or wander away. The land in this part of Ynys Mon, away from the coast, was mostly flat, rocky terrain with low hills and sporadic clumps of trees. The strong moonlight made it easy to see in every direction, and we kept to a well-worn path in the grass, which seemed to be a good indication that they came to this village often, though I couldn't help but wonder why they'd come here tonight. The fact that they needed horses to get here meant they were already on their way to the village before we even arrived. But what would bring them out in the middle of the night to see this woman?  Some of the answers to that question made me uneasy, but it also brought to the forefront the fact that I didn't know what this woman, what Avaline, was. Ewen claimed she infected him with his sickness, but based on what I'd seen tonight, I couldn't believe she did it of her own free will. I heard Lorcan's words as we left. I heard him call her a witch. But to me, she just seemed like a sick woman who was somehow under Lorcan's control. Of course, I could be dangerously wrong about that.