Children of Avalon Read online

  “No, I wouldn’t. My friend Aron would never have done anything that dumb.”

  “No? Well, then I’ve got to meet this paragon, because I could tell you so many more stories of my br...of our brothers, you just wouldn’t believe.”

  I shook my head in disbelief then started laughing again.

  Bridget reached out and grabbed my arm, stilling my hand from piling up more sticks onto the campfire. “Scai, I—I just want you to know I’m really happy you’re my sister.”

  I looked into Bridget’s eyes. She had become serious, even though her smile still covered her face.

  Sir Dagonet had gone off to see if he could hunt down a rabbit or some other animal for us to eat, leaving us alone for the first time. I loved having the time to get to know my sister. It was magical to hear the stories of her childhood, growing up with five brothers.

  I dropped the sticks in my other hand and took hold of Bridget’s. “I know just how you feel.”

  Bridget gave me a quick squeeze and let go.

  “It’s just so funny,” I began, picking up the sticks again. “We’re so different and we’ve been raised so differently, and yet...I feel closer to you than I’ve ever felt to anyone. I almost feel as if I’ve known you my whole life.”

  “I know. I’ve felt that way since the moment you walked into Sir Dagonet’s room at the inn in Gloucester.”

  “Yes!”

  Bridget magically pulled a medium sized branch down from a nearby tree. “Do you always do things with magic?” I asked.

  With care, Bridget brought the branch to the ground. “Yes. When it’s practical. Don’t you?”

  I just laughed. Bridget realized what she had said and started to laugh as well. “I suppose not,” she said, answering her own question.

  “No,” I said, still giggling. “But perhaps I’ll learn.” I wondered if Bridget would offer to teach me. I had figured out how to do a lot of things on my own, and I had also learned a bit from Sir Dagonet. Dylan had taught me some magic as well, although now that he was gone...

  I was just wondering what everyday things I could do with magic when I heard a sound coming from the trees behind me. “Sir Dagonet must be...”

  Bridget screamed, and then something hit me in the head and the world went black.

  <><><>

  When I came to, I wished that I hadn’t.

  Even before I opened my eyes, I knew that everything was wrong—there was too much noise, I had a pounding headache, and I couldn’t move my arms even though they were hurting terribly. Only after my mind slowly took in all of these sensations, and processed them in a vague and muddled way did my eyes fly open.

  I immediately closed them again.

  This was a dream. It had to be a dream. A horrible, terrible, awful...but no, my head hurt too much for this to be a dream. I opened my eyes again.

  This wasn’t a dream—it was a living nightmare.

  I looked out at a sizeable crowd of people, all staring up at me. A glance down confirmed my greatest fear—I was standing on a pile of firewood. And yes, the reason I couldn’t move, the reason why my arms and wrists hurt so badly, was because I was tied to a stake.

  I was going to be burned as a witch!

  In my panic, I struggled against the bonds that held me in place. I wriggled and twisted trying to get free. All I managed to do, however, was hurt my wrists even more against the very tight, knotted ropes that held them.

  I couldn’t breathe. Air, my precious air, deserted me. My throat closed up as sobs grew heavy in my chest. Tears slipped down my cheeks, but I could do nothing to stop them.

  “Aye, that’s right witch, cry, for you will burn in hell this evening!” a man yelled out from the crowd.

  I looked up. They were all watching me, laughing. I pressed my lips together and held my breath. I would not cry in front of these people. Don’t give them the satisfaction, I scolded myself.

  Bridget. I had been with Bridget when I’d been captured. So where...?

  She was there, to my right, tied to an identical stake on another pile of wood just next to me. “Bridget!” I shouted, still squirming even though I knew it wasn’t going to do any good. My sister was still unconscious. “Oh, God, Bridget, wake up!”

  “Ah, well, at least one of them is awake. That is so much more gratifying,” a man said, approaching the bonfire. He looked to be a nobleman, dressed in a fine dark blue tunic with gold embroidery at the neck and hem.

  “Please, please, sir, let us go!” I called out, desperation weighing down my words. This was my one chance. Perhaps, just perhaps, I could convince him to release us. “We have done nothing wrong!”

  The man threw back his head with laughter. The crowd around us had grown and they too chuckled as if I had made a joke. They were there to be entertained.

  “She has done nothing wrong!” the nobleman called out, baiting the crowd. “Tell me, girl, do you proclaim yourself to be a good God–fearing person?”

  “I do! I am!” I cried, trying once again to pull my hands free. My wrists burned with the repeated scraping and twisting of the ropes, but I had to get free, I had to. I couldn’t let myself be burned at the stake!

  “And what do you say to the charge of witchcraft, girl? My men say they saw you and your friend beside you engaging in the worst sort before they captured you.”

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what they’d seen. I stopped struggling. “I am not a witch!” I’m Vallen, I added silently to myself. But they wouldn’t know what a Vallen was. They wouldn’t know the difference. Those who captured us must have seen Bridget use her magic. Naturally, they thought her a witch. “I know no potions or spells.”

  “You lie!”

  “No! It is the God’s honest truth.”

  A knight next to the nobleman turned to the crowd. “I saw her with my own eyes,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear him clearly. “I saw her and the other one move sticks without touching them with their hands. They are witches!”

  The crowd gasped, thoroughly enjoying the show.

  “What say you to this charge?” the nobleman demanded.

  I swallowed. I didn’t know what to say. He was right: we had moved sticks without touching them.

  “There you have it! Her very silence is her admission of guilt,” the nobleman called out to the crowd, which responded at once with cheers and jeers. Curses were lobbed at me, as were rotten fruit and vegetables.

  I ducked my head and tried to think. There had to be some way to get out of this. My only hope was Sir Dagonet. Dylan was long gone—probably miles away by now. No, it had to be Sir Dagonet. But where was he?

  I didn’t know how long I’d been unconscious. Could he have come back from his hunting by now? And if he had, would he even realize that we had been taken against our will? Would he think to look here in this town? I stopped and looked around. I didn’t even know where I was, how far I’d been taken from our camp. How could Sir Dagonet possibly know where to look?

  Oh, God, he wouldn’t.

  I dropped my head once again as sobs broke from me. It was hopeless. I was as good as dead. If only Bridget would wake up, we could face our death together.

  The nobleman picked up a torch and held it toward the knight who struck a flint setting it on fire. Turning back to the crowd, the nobleman raised the flaming torch dramatically.

  “For God and King!” he called out triumphantly.

  “For God and King!” the people echoed back in one voice.

  “Bridget!” I screamed. But it was no use. She was still out cold. “Bridget, wake up, oh God, please wake up!” My tears had started again.

  There was nothing I could do. I was going to die.

  The man came closer and closer to the bonfire and in a grand gesture sure to please the crowd, lowered the torch first to my pile of wood and then to the one surrounding Bridget.

  In horror, shaking with fear, hardly able to breathe for the sobs wracking my body, I watched the fire grow. The
heat of it was gentle at first, nothing more than the warmth of a campfire, but too fast it became too warm. And before I knew it, it was lapping at my feet, the acrid smoke burning my eyes and nose.

  Reaching out with my foot, I tried to stamp out the flames. I tried and tried, but it was impossible. The only thing I succeeded in doing was to make the crowd laugh and shout with enjoyment at the show I was providing them. Calls of “Dance, witch!” were added to the general jeers and curses that the crowd was still throwing at Bridget and me.

  I wanted to scream, but I forced myself to stop—I couldn’t give the mob that satisfaction. Somehow I managed to take a deep breath and stop crying.

  I held up my head and looked directly at the throng. I might die tied to a stake, but I would die with dignity. Yes, somewhere deep down inside of me there was pride and strength, and I refused to be laughed at as I died.

  Deep down inside of me... the fog of panic began to skitter away and my mind started to work. Deep down inside of me wasn’t there an incredible well of energy and magic—enough energy and magic to put out the huge fire in Gloucester? Why couldn’t I do the same thing here?

  I turned my mind inward, reaching for all of my energy, just as I had done standing outside of the inn in Gloucester. I pulled it forth, brought it up, and then focused it into my hands...my hands, which were tied securely behind my back.

  How could I put out a fire with my hands tied behind my back? I couldn’t! I needed my hands to direct the magic. Occasional magic I could do with just my mind, but something big like this...

  Well, maybe I didn’t need something big. Anything would do just now.

  I looked up into the sky and called on the wind. Closing my eyes, I concentrated with all of my heart. Come wind, come to me.

  My hair waved gently in my face and the smoke began to blow away from me, but that was it. A light breeze was all I could manage without my hands. I needed my hands!

  What else could I do? I thought furiously, looking up into the traitorous sky.

  “Look at how she prays to her pagan god,” the nobleman called out to the people.

  They all laughed at my futility.

  “Give up, witch,” someone called out from the crowd. “Your god cannot help you now.”

  “My God is the same as yours! I do nothing more than pray for help, pray for just one among you to have the compassion to set me and my sister free,” I called out. I looked around at the crowd, but there was no response in their expressions. No, I would find no help there.

  I returned my eyes to the sky, searching for a fat rain cloud that could possibly somehow be coaxed to drop its life–giving water upon us. But I didn’t have Dylan’s powers of coaxing a cloudburst from nothing. All I could see in the blue expanse above were but a few gentle wisps of cloud.

  The fire began to singe the hem of my dress.

  “Scai?”

  I turned toward my sister. Thank God, she was awake. “Bridget! Oh please, please do something! I’ve tried, but I can’t bring on a wind strong enough without my hands. And there aren’t the clouds to bring rain!”

  Bridget shook her head as if trying to clear it and then looked down at the flames around her. She then looked up at me and smiled. “It’s still small enough. It shouldn’t be a problem.” And as she said it, the flames, which were lapping at her own feet, disappeared altogether. A moment after that, the fire underneath me was gone as well, leaving only smoldering, smoking wood.

  The murmur of the crowd became intense. “Witches! They are indeed witches! Did you see that? She put out the flames!”

  Women cried out in fear, and some men picked up stray, unburned sticks from the bonfires with which, I supposed, they intended to beat Bridget and me. The nobleman appeared again and in a loud voice called out, “To the river with them! If they will not burn, they will surely drown.”

  The crowd cheered its relieved approval, and a moment later I found myself untied from the stake and pulled off the bonfire. I struggled briefly, but I couldn’t muster up either the strength or the magic to resist with my hands tied behind my back. As I was being dragged away through the town, I glanced back to see that Bridget had also failed to break free and was being forced to follow.

  Now what were we going to do? I couldn’t swim. I didn’t know if Bridget could or not. But no matter what, we would surely drown, just as the nobleman had said.

  As we were hauled through the town, I looked around, desperate for anyone or anything that might save us. I thought I saw a man peeking out from behind a closed doorway, watching. Our eyes met and I was certain that he was Vallen—and as terrified of what was happening as I was. He wouldn’t help.

  As we turned a corner, I nearly tripped over a rock. And then I noticed there were rocks lining the street on either side.

  “Bridget,” I projected into my sister’s mind, “the rocks! Hit people with the rocks!”

  I twisted around to see if my sister had heard.

  Her eyes were wide, staring at me for a moment, and then they shifted to the rocks along the street. One lifted itself and came soaring toward one of her captors. I followed suit with my own barrage of rocks, and soon men were screaming as they were hit by the magically flying rocks.

  A man holding onto me saw a rock coming toward him and let go of me to run away screaming. I dropped the rock, but before I could even start to escape, another man grabbed my arm. Without missing a step, he continued dragging me ever faster toward the river and away from the street with the rocks.

  There was nothing more I could do. There weren’t enough rocks and there were too many men determined to see us drowned.

  Our journey ended by the side of a swiftly flowing river. It was wide and terrifyingly treacherous. I knew that even if I had known how to swim, the current would probably be too fast for me to survive, bound as I was.

  I took a long look at Bridget, who was still struggling and fighting against our captors. My heart filled with tenderness and regret. I, myself, was about to die, but I hoped my newfound, and now, deeply loved sister would be able to swim away from our terrible fate.

  But no matter what, I would die fighting.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  I screamed in fury as the men holding on to me began tearing at my clothes. I might be burned at the stake or drowned in the river—but I would not be stripped by strange men. This final indignity I would not tolerate.

  I fought, kicking, screaming, and biting anything that came within reach. My hands were still tied behind my back, but I fought like a hurricane. Bridget was holding her own.

  “My God, it is a hell–born witch!” one of the men cried out after getting his arm bitten fiercely and his shin kicked as well.

  “Leave them clothed!” a woman’s voice called out.

  “Aye! What is the point in stripping them naked? They are just going to die anyway,” another agreed.

  I paused in my fight, panting hard. Hardly able to breathe, I prayed that the men would listen. But if they didn’t, they would have to physically hold me down while they stripped me.

  They looked at each other in indecision until the nobleman spoke up. “Strip them to their shifts. We will leave them that modesty.”

  This was done, although neither Bridget nor I made it easy. Both of us then found our legs being tied to one of the stakes that had been brought from the town center. Standing next to each other, Bridget turned to me, her face streaked with tears. “We’re going to die,” she whispered.

  “Hush. It’s all right. God in His grace will see us through this.”

  “How?”

  I wish I knew.

  “Dylan’s gone. Sir Dagonet will never find us, and even if he does...”

  “If anyone were to find you, it would be your dead body sunk to the bottom of the river,” a coarse man said, interrupting Bridget.

  “Then we will live forever in God’s company in heaven,” I said with a great deal more bravado than I felt.

  The man scoffed, and the f
ellow next to him laughed out loud as he continued with his chore of tying our feet securely to the stake.

  My mind flitted briefly to Dylan. He had parted from me in anger—was that how he would always remember me? Was it possible that I did feel strongly toward him? I liked him, but did I love him?

  Did it really matter now?

  I wished that I’d had the nerve to tell him how I felt. Maybe he would have stayed if I had told him how much I liked him. Then, perhaps, we wouldn’t be in this situation—about to die.

  Bridget bowed her head and truly began to weep. Her shoulders shook with her sobs, but I, with my hands tied as they were, wasn’t able to do anything to comfort my sister.

  I looked around desperately, searching for a friendly face. There had to be someone somewhere who would save us from this! If only Dylan...but no, there was no one.

  No one was going to save us from this except ourselves. Come on, Scai, think, I cajoled myself. There had to be something that either I or Bridget could...

  “Do you denounce your craft, witch?” the nobleman demanded of us, so everyone surrounding us could hear.

  “Denounce my craft?” Bridget asked sniffling back her tears.

  “Will you give up being witches and embrace the true and right religion?” he demanded.

  “We are Christian,” I cried out.

  “You are witches!” the man said, appalled at my pronouncement.

  I lifted my head and said with a great deal more confidence than I actually felt, “No. We’re not witches!”

  “How can you lie so boldly when you are about to meet your maker?” the man next to me hissed in anger.

  “But...” It was impossible to explain; I didn’t even try. Instead I called out, “In the name of God’s mercy, set us free and let us go on our way. We swear we will never come near your town again.”

  “Heretic!” the nobleman cried out in horror. “Go to your rightful place in hell!” He turned his back on us and three burly men came up. One picked me up, another Bridget, and at the same time, the third picked up the stake that was tied to our feet.