22nd November 1102

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16th October 1102

Cindra awoke in the dank embrace of the autumn forest. The sun was sinking steadily towards the horizon, smearing the sky crimson with blood as his dying body was dragged inexorably down. The clouds were stained, pink and fleshy as they soaked up the gore left behind. Pale streaks of blue appeared as the wind swept them aimlessly across the sky, mopping up the fetid mess.

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16th October 1102

Cindra was very proud of herself. She was supposed to be asleep but she had managed to totter past her dozing nurse without her even noticing. Then, even better, she had carefully pulled herself down a whole flight of stairs, bumping her bottom down from one to the next. It had been an exhausting process but she knew that it was worth it now she could see what all the fuss was about.

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“So how did it go?” Madlenka asked with a sly grin.

She was lying on the thick, woven carpet with the Crown Prince who was happily batting at his knees stopping occasionally to catch at the long tail of hair that draped down his mother’s shoulder.

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The fist was crunching into his face before he knew what was happening. He felt the bones of his nose cracking under its weight, a dreadful crushing feeling he remembered well and a gout of blood spurted onto the fist that was coming in a second time. Sigurd’s fingers curled around the neck of his tunic pulling him upright as his fist collided with Radomir’s exposed belly.

“You bastard!”, Sigurd was snarling, his teeth bared, “You dare touch her!”.

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“Here we are then”, Cindra’s friendly voice was very close to her ear, one warm hand kindly resting on her hip to steady her. It was so difficult to walk. If only the floor would stop moving about like this it would be a whole lot easier.

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Sigurd gazed down at the floor, his eyes fixed on a small scuff mark just beside his left toe where some heavy chair had been dragged across the soft-wood floor.

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“Isn’t he amazing?”, Madlenka sighed happily as she gazed down at her son’s sleeping form.

“He is the most perfect prince that ever was”, Eallair replied expansively, a tender smile on his face.

(more…)

The King rose unsteadily to his feet with an expectant look on his face as they trudged through the door.

Beside him, the priest Father Harndall stood, his shoulders slumped, arms curved protectively around himself. From where he stood Noah could see the sheen of sweat clinging to the pallid man’s skeletal face. The clear blue eyes nestled in the dark hollows of his sockets, were wide and frightened. His jaw hung slackly, his face drooping like the folds of the burlap robe that hung limply from his angular shoulders.

“Well… how did it go… did you… ?” the King’s inquiry died on his lips as he gazed around at the horrified faces of the men standing before him.

“Lochan… “, he turned to the Duke standing beside him and Noah noticed the shadow of doubt that passed over his face when he saw his cousin.

The duke stood, his head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor shuffling from one foot to the other. His firm golden chestplate gleamed in the candlelight, the burgundy cloth of his sleeves spilling from the interlocking rings of chainmail like blood gouting from an open wound.

“Oh yes… why don’t yew ask Lochan how it went” Osras sneered, “or perhaps better yet, you should be asking my brother bleeding and spewing in the other room his face ruined by that bitch’s claws!”

Osras’ hands were straining into fists beside his body as he beat them against his side. Noah noticed small beads of blood forming on the tightly stretched skin of his knuckles, the rusty mail links tearing angry cuts, threatening to expose the hard white bone that rippled just beneath.

The Duke’s head snapped up and he fixed the man before him with a piercing glare, his lips turning down in a sneer to mirror Osras’. Noah did not think he was a man who would take kindly to the disrespectful tone of Osras’ anger and held his breath as he waited for the response.

“Or better yet… perhaps yew should be asking the little lass, wee Igrayne how it went”, he snarled, “If she hasn’t already died that is!”

Lochan stepped back as if Osras’ clenched fist had collided with his stomach, the air draining from him in a gasp.

“Now then man, steady on”, the King wavered, “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that and perhaps you er… should be showing a bit more respect to his Lordship”.

Noah noticed a flutter of movement at the King’s waist and to his dismay realised Eallair’s hands were shaking as he rhythmically tugged the buttons of his tunic. Noah found it difficult to look away, momentarily fixated by those fingers, the fingers of a King. They were picking nervously at a loose thread which protruded from the hole of a button, the fibers poking through like a worm uncoiling from the juicy confines of the first bite of a ripe plum.

“Begging yer pardon Yer Highness but I won’t steady on!”, Osras roared as the King stepped back, his shoulders slumping, hands planted flat against his thighs for support, “Yew just ask him yerself what he done! Led us trailing behind him into the very mouth of the devil he did”

Father Harndall cringed behind the King with a moan, his face crumpling like old parchment. He clutched desperately at the folds of material, running his wasted fingers over the scratchy fabric as though trying to remind himself that this, at least was real. His hands found one another hidden there and furtively clasped, his fingers clinging together, lovers in one final embrace.

The King turned with a pleading look to the Duke, but the man was bent over, staring in horror at the rusty stain of blood on his hands, etched into the callouses, drying beneath his nails in dirty red crescents.

“Oh Your Highness… her blood, all through her pretty blonde hair. And then there was none… none even though I carved his very arm with my blade… and the black dog howling… oh God!”, he muttered incoherently, running his hands along the hard metal of his plate mail as though trying to gain strength from the hard contours of beaten metal.

“Yew see!”, Osras crowed triumphantly bringing up his fist again to pound against his hip, mashing his knuckles against the ragged edges of the rows of metal plates.

Noah waited long moments for the King to respond, for any of three of the men whom he admired most in this world to reply to such insolence. But not a word was said. The King gazed down at the floor, his cheeks red with embarrassment, the thread wound so tightly around one finger that all the blood had drained out and the pounded of his racing heartbeat was visible at the tip.

Noah carefully rested one steady hand on Osras’ shoulder, the weight of it and the slight pressure of his broad fingertips stilling the other man’s rage. Osras shook him off but he unclenched his fists and crossed his arms with a scowl.

“Yew should be still Osras and yew best be making yer apologies fer bein’ disrespectful to His majesty and His Lordship”.

Osras snorted with anger but conceded and asked for their pardon.

“Goodman Ulcar, if you would please be so kind as to explain to me what has taken place this dreadful night”, the King gazed at him and Noah suddenly felt the weight of responsibility to a King and his Kingdom pressing him down.

He took a deep breath, “Yer Majesty. Let me tell it plainly for I am bein’ but a plain man”.

“This night, as was bein’ planned, we three and also Kelgar Shildfrith and Arran Barran went to lay a trap fer the foul beast what has been attackin’ our good folk”.

“As was planned we hid ourselves, while the little lass waited bravely. We also were waitin’ a waitin’ fer her signal, waitin’ fer a scream but it did not come till much too late”.

He bit his lip and fought back the bile that was rising unbidden in his throat.

“When she did, we of course were runnin’ out as fast as we could. An there was not just the one, no, he had Sister Mella with him. But she was wrong Yer Majesty, I can’t say it no better but she weren’t bein’ herself”.

He heard the groans of the priest as he wrung his hands clasping at the robe between them, but Noah continued on.

“The lass Yer Majesty, Igrayne, she was bein’ hurt pretty bad though still alive. We thought she was fer dead, but the Barran lad stayed by her side and she was wakin’ again though she’s in a real bad state”.

He felt Osras bristling at his side, “An Osras’ brother, Kelgar, he went to her aid but Mella done somethin’ to him an’ he’s bein real ill now too… both of em’… real ill”.

“Good Lord”, the King exclaimed, “Why would Sister Mella throw in her lot with such a man, why is she doing such things?”

Harndall gave a strangled sob behind him, burying his face in his hands as he muttered a prayer under his breath.

Noah took another breath and another, trying to still his thumping heart.

“Yer Majesty… when I said there’s somethin’ wrong with her I should have perraps explained meself better. I’m thinkin’… well I know it’s bein’ blasphemous to even say such a thing…”

He dropped his voice to a low whisper, “I think she’s been possessed by a demon of some sort”.

He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, “Perraps even the devil hisself”.

“The Devil! Good Lord man! What brings you to say such things. Lochan what is he talking about!?”.

But the duke did not move, only rubbed his bloody hands over the contours of his gauntlets and shivered.

“Wait Yer Majesty, there’s bein’ more I haven’ said yet”, Noah continued, “The man… if you can even be callin’ him such, he changed somehow, into a monstrous beast, a huge black dog with glowin’ red eyes. An’ Sister Mella… she… she changed into a foul, mangy bat. They did Yer Majesty, I swear with me heart on everythin’ I hold dear in this Godforsaken world”,

“Right before our very eyes”, Osras whispered, crossing himself with superstitious fear.

“Right before your very eyes!”, the King almost shouted his hands flying up to mimic Noah’s, “A big black dog! A bat! What kind of pagan mythology are you spouting!”.

He turned to the Duke, “What the hell is this about Lochan. Now my men come here to mock me with fairytales and you just stand there snivelling! What the hell is going on!”.

The Duke’s hand flew up to cover his horrified mouth, “It’s true Your Majesty, every word he says. We all saw it. And he would not die… he could not die”.

“What is he talking about Goodman Ulcar?!”, the King turned back to him his face twisted into a horrible grimace, “What the devil is he saying?!”

Noah shuddered involuntarily at the King’s oath but spoke calmly, “Kelgar, Yer Majesty, he ran the man right through with his sword, we were seein’ it pokin’ right through t’other side. But he did not die. There was not even bein’ any blood in sight, only ash”.

The King groaned in horror, looking from side to side unsure what to believe until his eyes fell on Noah’s firm unwavering stare.

“What should we do?”, he asked in a panic stricken voice.

Noah did not point out that it was strange that he, the King of Branwhuld, whose veins ran with the blood of countless noble rulers would ask such a question of he, Noah the carpenter.

He simply answered as best he knew how, “We were followin’ them as far as the old ruined church Yer Majesty, an’ there we lost em in the gloom. I think we should be sendin’ out a larger party of men to be searchin’ the area more carefully”.

He thought for a moment, “Perraps during the day would be wise, they seem to be preferin’ the night after all. Perraps we can catch em’ when they don’t be expectin’ it. An’ were goin’ to need the good Father there. Whatever they are bein’ it ain’t Godly creatures is fer sure”.

Harndall shuddered and looked as though he would be ill.

“We can’t just be lettin’ such things run about and kill our people Yer Majesty, we must be bein’ brave. We must all be bein’ brave”.

“I believe you are right Goodman Ulcar”, the King muttered and stood a little taller, his hands laying still at his sides.

Cindra had met Eallair in the hall rushing hurriedly from the room, the roar of Lochan’s curses ringing behind him. Evidently Eallair in his nervous state had said the wrong thing and been sent away. But it was not a time to be alone so she had crept through the door, carefully pulling up a chair beside Lochan without a word, tentatively reaching out a warm, sure hand to rest over his trembling one.

And so they had sat as the hours ticked by, in silence, the only sound the ragged breath whistling between his grinding teeth.

Finally he turned to her and in his eyes she saw such boundless terror that she was frightened herself.

“Cindra…”, he moaned between chattering teeth, “Cindra what if…”.

She didn’t let him finish cutting him off with, “What if what. None of your nonsense then. There will be no what if. She is with Goodwife Cade, the best midwife our kingdom has ever had and all will be well”.

“All will be well”, she repeated again with the best smile she could muster, patting his hand awkwardly.

But even she realised it was a poor replacement for her usual laughing mouth and he must have known it too.

But it was the best that she could do. It was not supposed to be like this. He comforted her, there had never been anything else and now she was terrified of setting a foot astray and ruining everything they had rebuilt over the last months. She had always had his hand to guide her as she tottered on stumpy legs through puddles, his strong arms to lift her when the wall was too high.

But she was all he had as his wife lay moaning and screaming in pain and she would not falter. She would help him along this path as he had done for her so many times before. She squeezed his hand a little more tightly, interlacing her slender fingers with his.

“They will both be fine”, she said again in a firm voice, though to her shame she did not quite believe it. Isaura had awoke bleeding which was not a good sign.

Lochan’s lower lip was trembling as he bit furiously, his eyes swimming with unshed tears.

“I forgot to tell her I loved her before I went”, he said, his voice low and hollow.

“She knows Lochan”, Cindra replied.

“But what if…”.

“I said no what ifs Lochan. She knows and soon you will be able to tell her again yourself”.

She opened her mouth to speak more words of comfort but shut it abruptly at the sound of footsteps coming down the wooden hallways.

Lochan leapt from his chair, gazing in horror at the door that would soon open and admit the rest of his life, whether good or bad.

Cindra silently steeled herself in case it was bad.

The door clicked open and the Queen walked in carrying a squirming bundle in her arms. Cindra did a quick count of limbs, fingers and toes but the baby seemed healthy enough. It was gazing with interest at Madlenka’s thick ponytail the tip of which was dangling within reach of the clumsily grasping fingers. It batted wildly with tiny hands, trying to catch this fascinating object but could not muster the coordination needed to succeed.

Still Cindra was frightened to look upon the woman’s face and see what lay there. She glanced at Nyawe who was smirking slightly but that did not give her the answer she sought. Nyawe was the sort of woman to smirk at another’s misfortune, particularly if it meant one less wife in the world.

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she saw the joyful smile that was plastered across Madlenka’s rosy face. Surely if things had gone badly she would not have been able to smile so.

“My wife…”, Lochan managed to croak.

“She’s doing fine Lochan, a little tired but otherwise fine. She’s resting now but you can see her soon”, Madlenka replied.

“And I have a little someone here who is very keen to meet you”.

Cindra peered around Lochan’s shoulder to see the baby gazing with rapt attention at her father. What a dear little thing it was! And so robust. She could not quite believe it had come from the belly of Isaura. All her energy must have gone into this small pink thing which was now snuffling softly in Madlenka’s arms.

“This is your daughter Lochan”, Madlenka said softly, holding her out to his outstretched trembling arms.

Lochan took the baby carefully, as though frightened she would break if he bumped too hard, cradling her tiny body in his arms.

The two gazed at each other, the baby awkwardly patting at his face with her soft hands.

“My daughter… “, he repeated in awe, his mouth working painfully between a smile of wonder and a grimace.

“Alright then, we should leave the two of you alone to become acquainted. Come on then ladies”.

“I want her to stay”, Lochan murmured, his mouth against the soft skin of his daughter’s head.

“Of course she can stay with her papa, I meant the rest of us silly”.

Cindra moved to leave but Lochan said softly, “I meant Cindra”.

The smile dropped from Madlenka’s face as she stared at Cindra sourly. Her disapproval was obvious and Cindra knew why. It should have been her husband there with his friend, not Cindra. It was not the place for the women to be that night.

“Very well then”, she said haughtily and turning on her heel they left, closing the door with a loud click behind them.

A rattling sob rose in Lochan’s throat, muffled by his daughters neck.

Without a thought Cindra rushed up, wrapping her arms around the two of them. She stroked Lochan’s shivering back, burying her face in the warmth of his hair. His wife was not here to comfort him and so it was obvious that she must.

They stayed like that for a long time as Lochan wept, with Cindra and the baby clinging desperately to his shaking body.