Before the Tide Page 16

  Chapter 16: the Druidess and the Dragon

  The three fairly ran out of the house. They refused to stop and tell what they’d seen, instead mounting their horses, and urging the others to do the same. They rode down the track back toward the main road at a gallop. Finally, they slowed down when the horses began to tire. In halting tones, the three described what they had seen. They rode through the crisp bright air, their conversation at odds with the cheerful looking landscape, suffused with early morning sun.

  “But what did we see last night?” Emmeline asked.

  “Shadows,” Salazar answered gravely, “shades of life that had been, but is no longer.”

  “But we danced to their music, saw them eat and drink!” Aidan exclaimed.

  “We have lost track of days,” Rowena said. “I think perhaps last night was the feast of Samhain.” She looked at the children. “The end of the old year, and the start of the new: it’s a time when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is thin.”

  As they rode on, more than one peered covertly at their clothing, as though afraid that the darkness of the gallery would somehow be clinging to them: that they would, in some way, carry it away with them, but they did not. They stopped soon after, and shared out the rest of the stew from yesterday. Though they hadn’t properly rested the night before, they all felt relieved to have put some distance between themselves and the manner house. It seemed to them that the changing colours of the leaves were particularly bright, and the sunlight particularly golden.

  “I wonder how long ago they died,” Emmeline said as they mounted and rode away once more. No one had an answer of course.

  They all spent the afternoon looking around them more attentively than they usually did, not so much out of apprehension, but out of gratitude, appreciation to be alive in the bright, living world. They had all carried away painful memories from the battle, and from things that had come before. Somehow, for all of them, the sharpest edge of their various griefs blended with the events of the previous night. The revelers, the doomed young couple, all those slain wedding guests from no one knew how long ago, all began to take on the feeling of something remembered in a dream or nightmare. All those people had perished long since. Their loves, hates, fears and vengeance were gone to dust. It made their own painful memories seem comfortingly distant, and the bright, living world, very near.

  In late afternoon, they made camp beside a stream where a cluster of apple trees grew. As Godric prepared his fishing gear, Helga and the young people roamed about, gathering fire wood and late apples. They were camped on a rise of ground that showed them the unmistakable signs of a village a half day’s ride away. They were tired, and in no hurry, but it was reassuring to see the commonplace signs of human habitation: a mill, wood smoke rising on the still air, and grazed fields. Tomorrow they would meet new folk, perhaps be able to buy bread, and to sleep in the comforting ordinariness of an inn. For now, they were alive, and free.

  They felt a strange elation. The boys and Emmeline chased one another, pelting each other with rotten apples. Godric fished contentedly. Helga foraged for herbs and late eatables, and Rowena and Salazar sat together, studying Rowena’s copy of the Metamorph Magi. They all felt as though the night at the manner house, frightening though it had become, was a turning point. Somehow, such an intimate encounter with deaths past, set them all more firmly on the road that looked forward rather than back.

  It was the middle of a misty afternoon, and they were all damp from the day’s showers, and perhaps just a bit cross. On their left, a road came into view that made a right angle to their own. It wasn’t much of a road, more of a track, and clearly had no bearing on their intended direction. However, both Helga and Salazar began to rein in their mounts and peer closely at it.

  “What ever are you staring at that path for?” Godric asked a little impatiently. He would have sworn up and down that he welcomed the riggers of the road, but he disliked being damp, and was thinking ahead to where they would make their next camp.

  “There’s magic here,” Salazar said, glancing at Godric in some surprise. “Don’t you see it?”

  “See what?”

  “It … there is a powerful witch or wizard who has … well, I don’t know what they have done, but they’ve clearly done something.” He looked to Helga for confirmation.

  She nodded. “Yes, it’s very obvious. Can’t you see it either?” She asked Rowena.

  Rowena shook her head, vexed at her inability. Curiosity, and a need not to be petty made her ask, “What do you see? And how?”

  Helga considered. “It’s like a light, but not one you see with your eyes. I think I would see it even at night. What think you Salazar?”

  “Just so,” said Salazar, smiling at Helga. “It seems like a thing of the eye, but it isn’t really.” Emmeline nudged her horse up beside his. Always ready to show interest in what interested him, she said eagerly, “Teach me how to see it.”

  Aidan and Cadogan drew up close to hear also. Godric and Rowena tried not to show the same eagerness as the children, but they listened with great attention as Salazar and Helga tried to teach them how to focus with the eye and the mind together, to perceive beyond what their eyes saw, to let their perception of magic reach out beyond their own awareness into the wider world. After some time, the children were still unable to see anything unusual, but Rowena and Godric began dimly to perceive something, a kind of almost shimmer around the edges of things.

  Helga was surprised at how difficult they found it. “I suppose it is because you lived as muggles most of your lives. You trained yourselves to see the world as muggles see it.”

  Rowena frowned, displeased to hear herself described as limited. “Is this something you see every day?” She asked Helga.

  Helga considered. “No, certainly not every day, but sometimes it’s blindingly plain. I can usually tell right away if a person has magic, or if an object or creature is magical. That … that griffin you called it? That creature exuded magic so strong it was overwhelming. Did you not see that much?”

  “No I didn’t,” Rowena replied, a little sharply despite herself, “I was too busy wondering how Godric had summoned it, and from where.”

  “I too,” Godric laughed. He was less distressed than Rowena to find there were magical skills he didn’t have. He’d spent his life cultivating skills of blade and spear, and had been happy so. Now however, he was heartily curious, and assented when Helga and Salazar proposed taking the path to see where it might lead. Eager for adventure, the young people followed, but Rowena, who felt she’d had enough adventure for five lifetimes already, brought up the rear of the party as they turned aside down the overgrown path.

  After some time, the path opened up. Before them was a small valley, rocky and without much vegetation. On the other side of the valley was a wooded hillside, and on either side of the valley were slopes so steep and overgrown that they were essentially impassable. As they emerged into the open, the air was rent by an ear-splitting roar, and a sight met their eyes as strange and menacing as any they’d seen so far. From the barren valley, breathing fire and flapping its enormous wings, rose into the air a dragon. It was of a malodorous green, and everything about it screamed aggression.

  Salazar, who alone among them had ever seen a dragon before, exercised rigid control to keep his mount from bolting. Giving a dragon something to chase wasn’t always the wisest course. He turned his eyes briefly away to ensure his companions recognized this, but found that all save Godric had scuttled back to hide behind a large boulder and a turn of the path. Godric was struggling to quiet his horse, and Salazar reached out with his thoughts to help. Looking grim but determined, Godric drew his jewelled sword from its sheath.

  “I don’t think that will do much,” Salazar said, with what Godric thought was remarkable calm.

  “What do you propose?” Godric asked threw his teeth.

  “Well, I’m not quite sure yet. Somet
hing with my wand, but what exactly …”

  The dragon rose higher in the air and moved threateningly toward them, and Salazar continued to look only mildly alarmed. “Perhaps you could think a little more quickly friend,” Godric hissed.

  “Well,” Salazar said musingly, “do you see anything odd about that dragon?”

  “Odd, apart from the raking claws and spitting fire? No, but then I’ve never seen one before.”

  “Hmm, it’s a very misty day, lots of rain in the air.”

  Godric, wondering if Salazar had been driven mad with fear to be talking about the weather in the face of a fire-breathing dragon, lifted his sword and gathered himself together as though he would charge the beast.

  But Salazar continued, “Do you see how the dragon just blasted that clump of trees, yet the trees don’t burn. And that much fire should be making the mist turn to steam, but it’s not.”

  “Are you saying that dragon isn’t real?” Godric asked in astonishment.

  “It’s not a normal dragon anyway. What it is I’m not sure, but maybe together we can find out. Why don’t you sheath your sword and pull out your wand, which might actually do some good? Do you remember how we all practiced combining our magic? Maybe if we both concentrate on dispelling whatever spell is at work, concentrate on revealing what’s truly there, disillusioning the illusion…” His voice trailed off as he raised his wand and focused intently on the dragon.

  After a second, Godric did as Salazar had suggested. It was a little like summoning the wind had been: drawing on the force of his own magic not for something simple and defined like levitating a goblet, but something that had more to do with a broad intention. The effort brought sweat beading on their foreheads, but at last, the outline of the dragon wavered. The fire retreated into its mouth, its wings folded in on themselves, and it descended to their side of the valley. As it neared the ground, its claws retracted, its tail split, its scales smoothed out, and before them stood a woman wearing a green dress, with red hair flowing down her back.

  Salazar smiled broadly, and bowed to her from his saddle. “An impressive feat my lady!” He exclaimed with genuine delight.

  She smiled back. When she spoke, she was out of breath from her exertions. She had a pleasant voice, accented faintly with Welsh, the kind of low, husky voice, which men sometimes appreciate more than women.

  “Thank you my lord. It has been a long time since there has been any to truly appreciate my transformations. Usually I come when I see someone is trespassing toward my village, and a few swoops and fiery breaths are enough to send them scurrying back where they came from. Effective, but it’s nice to have my abilities seen for what they are occasionally. What brings two such powerful and well-favoured wizards to this place?”

  Godric was regarding her, unmoved by her graceful carriage and winning smile.

  It was Salazar who spoke. “Like many, we have taken to the road lately, partly to remain free of William’s army, and partly because of a need to journey north.”

  “It’s been a long time since any magical folk have come this way. I’d be glad for you to take rest here, refresh yourselves for your long journey.”

  Salazar, who hadn’t thus far found the road much of a burden to his comfort, suddenly thought how restful it would in fact be to stop in a settled place for a while.

  “We’re not travelling alone,” Godric said impassively, and gestured to the turn in the path, around which Aidan and Cadogan were peering. Slowly, the rest of the party came into view, urging their reluctant horses out of the trees. The green clad lady’s smile faltered for a moment as she took in the women and children, but she rallied graciously, and all introduced themselves.

  The lady’s name was Cleodna, and she guided them down the safest path into the valley and up the hill on the other side. When they’d passed through a stand of oaks, they came to Cleodna’s village.

  It wasn’t long before they all understood that when Cleodna referred to the village as “hers,” she hadn’t been speaking in the way people normally do about their home in the collective sense. The village consisted of a sprawling, prosperous looking house on a gentle rise, overlooking a collection of small but well-maintained cottages and a village common. Cleodna gestured gracefully toward the house. “That’s mine,” she said with some satisfaction. “There’s plenty of room there for … for all of you. Come.”

  The way to her house passed through the common. The place looked ordinary enough. People milled about, doing the sorts of things one might expect: washing clothes, tending livestock, gleaning a last harvest from kitchen gardens. The folk didn’t look afraid of her exactly, but they all bowed to her deferentially, and while some greeted her, it wasn’t with particular warmth. Cleodna’s house was as far from ordinary as anything the travellers had ever seen.

  Cleodna said that she’d gotten the idea for its design from her travels in the east. The house was built around an inner courtyard, which gave the front of the house an imposing aspect. The inner courtyard was something none of them had ever imagined.

  Cleodna, whatever else she was, was clearly a very powerful witch. The courtyard had its own climate. When they’d passed through an immaculate entranceway, they stepped out into a hot summer afternoon. Above them the sky was a clear blue, and the sun shone hot and bright. Around them grew plants of such lush strangeness that one mightn’t have been in Britain at all. Flowers the size of goblets, leaves broad as trenchers, fountains sparkling in the sunlight, marble benches, and dotted around the perimeter, cages holding beasts of such variety the eyes of all goggled in amazement. They each stood in silence, gazing around them in genuine awe.

  Cleodna looked immensely pleased with herself. She actually clapped her hands in delight at their reaction. “Oh it’s such fun to surprise people with my courtyard, and I so rarely get the chance!” She pulled a wand from her sleeve and made a quick tapping movement. The air was briefly filled with a sweet chiming sound, and in a matter of seconds, a servant came scurrying out of one of the doors. “These are my guests,” she said in a business-like way. “Take their wet cloaks. Send someone to tend to their horses. Have food prepared, and bed chambers made ready. Have the bath house made ready also.” She said to Helga and Rowena, “I’m sure you would like to freshen yourself after so many days on the road. While my servants prepare your welcome, come and let me show you around my sanctuary.”

  They followed her slowly around the courtyard, dazzled alike by beasts and botanicals. There were creatures both magical and non-magical, but all rare, most unknown in Britain. Salazar saw beasts he had heard of but never encountered, and Rowena saw one’s she had only ever seen in illustrated guides to places like Babylon and Arcadia. There were trees, flowering shrubs, and medicinal herbs from foreign lands that left Helga longing for a digging stick and a drying wrack. Emmeline was captivated by the tethered unicorn, which didn’t seem to favour her much, and Aidan had to be restrained by Rowena from sticking obstructive fingers merrily into the spouts of the fountains to see what would happen.

  Alone among them, Cadogan seemed unimpressed. He stayed close to Helga, seeming uninclined to explore this miraculous place. Finally, nearly falling over him he was sticking to her so closely, Helga said a little tersely, “Cadogan, what troubles you? I nearly tripped over you.”

  The others were gathered around a small pond bearing what Cleodna told them was a grindylow. Seeing the distressed look on Cadogan’s face, Helga squatted down to bring herself on a level with him. “What is it?” She asked quietly.

  Cadogan’s face twisted up in an effort to find the right words. “It feels funny here.” His eyes roved the improbable surroundings, lingering on the caged creatures. “I don’t like it.”

  Helga wanted to be kind, but her clothes were still damp, parts of her were still sore from the saddle even after so many days, her stomach was rumbling with hunger, and mention of the words “bath house” had stimulated a desire which she had nobly s
uppressed, but which now reared its head with all the ferocity of a caged cat.

  “I know it’s very different here,” she said comfortingly, “but look at all the incredible creatures and flowers! We may never see their like again; we should be grateful for Cleodna’s offer of hospitality. Won’t it be nice to stay in such a comfortable place for a while?”

  “I guess so,” he replied ungraciously. “But Cleodna’s … she’s a dragon. And if she’s so wealthy and powerful, why is she wearing a dress that’s too small for her?”