Dragon's Teeth (17 page)

“And ask for a vision?” Leonie said, raising her head in sudden interest.

“Precisely.” The nun shook her head, and picked up her beads, telling them through her fingers as she often did when nervous. “There is something wrong with us, with the land, with the kingdom—I want you to see if God will grant you a vision of
what.”
As Leonie felt a sudden upsurge of pride, Mother Magdalene added hastily, “You aren’t the only one being asked to do this—every order from one end of the kingdom to the other has been asked for visions from their members. I thought long and hard about asking this. But you are the only one in my convent who has ever—had a tendency to visions.”

The Mother Superior had been about to say something else, Leonie was sure, for the practical and pragmatic Mother Magdalene had made her feelings on the subject of mysticism quite clear over the years. But that didn’t matter—what did matter was that she was finally going to be able to release that pent-up power again, to soar on the angels’ wings. Never mind that there were as many devils “out there” as angels; her angels would protect her, for they always had, and always would.

Without another word, she knelt on the cold stone before the altar, fixed her eyes on the bright little gilded cross above it, and released her soul’s hold on her body.

“What did you see?” Mag asked, as Elfrida came back, shivering and spent, to consciousness. Her body was lying on the ground beside the fire, and it felt too tight, like a garment that didn’t fit anymore—but she was glad enough to be in it again, for there had been
thousands
of those evil creatures waiting for her, trying to prevent her from reaching—

“The Cauldron,” she murmured, sitting up slowly, one hand on her aching head. “There was a Cauldron”

“Of course!” Mag breathed. “The Cauldron of the Goddess! But—” It was too dark for Elfrida to see Mag, other than as a shadow in the darkness, but she somehow felt Mag’s searching eyes. “What about the Cauldron? When is it coming back? Who’s to have it? Not the High King, surely—”

“I’m—supposed to go look for it—” Elfrida said, vaguely. “That’s what They said—I’m supposed to go look for it.”

Mag’s sharp intake of breath indicated her shock. “But—no, I know you, when you come out of this,” she muttered, almost as if to herself. “You can’t lie. If you say They said for you to go, then go you must.”

Elfrida wanted to say something else, to ask what it all meant, but she couldn’t. The vision had taken too much out of her, and she was whirled away a second time, but this time it was not on the winds of vision, but into the arms of exhausted sleep.

“What did you see?” Mother Superior asked urgently. Leonie found herself lying on the cold stone before the altar, wrapped in someone’s cloak, with something pillowed under her head. She felt very peaceful, as she always did when the visions released her, and very, very tired. There had been many demons out there, but as always, her angels had protected her. Still, she was glad to be back. There had never been quite so many of the evil things there before, and they had frightened her.

She had to blink a few times, as she gathered her memories and tried to make sense of them. “A cup,” she said, hesitantly—then her eyes fell upon the Communion chalice on the altar, and they widened as she realized just what she truly
had
seen. “No—not a cup,
the
Cup! We’re to seek the Grail! That’s what They told me!”

“The Grail?” Mother Magdalene’s eyes widened a little herself, and she crossed herself hastily. “Just before you—you dropped over, you reached out. I thought I saw—I thought I saw something faint, like a ghost of a glowing cup in your hands—”

Leonie nodded, her cheek against the rough homespun of the habit bundled under her head. “They said that to save the kingdom, we have to seek the Grail.”

“We?” Mother Magdalene said, doubtfully. “Surely you don’t mean—”

“The High King’s knights and squires, some of the clergy—and—me—” Leonie’s voice trailed off, as she realized what she was saying. “They said the knights will know already and that when you hear about it from Camelot, you’ll know I was speaking the truth. But I don’t
want
to go!” she wailed. “I don’t! I—”

“I’m convinced of the truth now,” the nun said. “Just by the fact that you don’t want to go. If this had been a sham, to get attention, you’d have demanded special treatment, to be cosseted and made much of, not to be sent off on your own.”

“But—” Leonie protested frantically, trying to hold off unconsciousness long enough to save herself from this exile.

“Never mind,” the Mother Superior said firmly. “We’ll wait for word from Camelot. When we hear it, then you’ll go.”

Leonie would have protested further, but Mother Magdalene laid a cool hand across her hot eyes, and sleep came up and took her.

Elfrida had never been this far from her home village before. The great forest through which she had been walking for most of the day did not look in the least familiar. In fact, it did not look like anything anyone from the village had ever described.

And why hadn’t Mag brought her here to gather healing herbs and mushrooms?

The answer seemed clear enough; she was no longer in lands Mag or any of the villagers had ever seen.

She had not known which way to go, so she had followed the raven she saw flying away from the village. The raven had led her to the edge of the woods, which at the time had seemed quite ordinary. But the oaks and beeches had turned to a thick growth of fir; the deeper she went, the older the trees became, until at last she was walking on a tiny path between huge trunks that rose far over her head before properly branching out. Beneath those spreading branches, thin, twiggy growth reached out skeletal fingers like blackened bones, while the upper branches cut off most of the light, leaving the trail beneath shrouded in a twilight gloom, though it was midday.

Though she was on a quest of sorts, that did not mean she had left her good sense behind. While she was within the beech and oak forest, she had gleaned what she could on either side of the track. Her pack now held two double-handfuls each of acorns and beechnuts, still sound, and a few mushrooms. Two here, three or four there, they added up.

It was just as well, for the meager supply of journey-bread she had with her had been all given away by the end of the first day of her quest. A piece at a time, to a child here, a nursing mother there . . . but she had the freedom of the road and the forest; the people she encountered were tied to their land and could not leave it. Not while there was any chance they might coax a crop from it.

They feared the forest, though they could not tell Elfrida why. They would only enter the fringes of it, to feed their pigs on acorns, to pick up deadfall. Further than that, they would not go.

Elfrida had known for a long time that she was not as magical as Mag. She had her visions, but that was all; she could not see the power rising in the circles, although she knew it was there, and could sometimes feel it. She could not see the halos of light around people that told Mag if they were sick or well. She had no knowledge of the future outside of her visions, and could not talk to the birds and animals as Mag could.

So she was not in the least surprised to find that she could sense nothing about the forest that indicated either good or ill. If there was something here, she could not sense it. Of course, the gloom of the fir-forest was more than enough to frighten anyone with any imagination. And while nobles often claimed that peasants had no more imagination than a block of wood—well, Elfrida often thought that nobles had no more sense than one of their high-bred, high-strung horses, that would break legs, shying at shadows. Witless, useless—and irresponsible. How many of them were on their lands, helping their liegemen and peasants to save their crops? Few enough; most were idling their time away at the High King’s Court, gambling, drinking, wenching, playing at tourneys and other useless pastimes. And she would wager that the High King’s table was not empty; that the nobles’ children were not going pinch-faced and hungry to bed. The religion of the White Christ had divorced master from man, noble from villager, making the former into a master in truth, and the latter into an income-producing slave. The villager was told by his priest to trust in God and receive his reward in heaven. The lord need feel no responsibility for any evils he did or caused, for once they had been confessed and paid for—usually by a generous gift to the priest—his God counted them as erased. The balance of duty and responsibility between the vassal and his lord was gone.

She shook off her bitter thoughts as nightfall approached. Without Mag’s extra abilities Elfrida knew she would have to be twice as careful about spending the night in this place. If there were supernatural terrors about, she would never know until they were on her. So when she made her little camp, she cast circles around her with salt and iron, betony and rue, writing the runes as clear as she could, before she lit her fire to roast her nuts.

But in the end, when terror came upon her, it was of a perfectly natural sort.

Leonie cowered, and tried to hide in the folds of her robe. Her bruised face ached, and her bound wrists were cut and swollen around the thin twine the man who had caught her had used to bind her.

She had not gotten more than two days away from the convent—distributing most of her food to children and the sick as she walked—when she had reached the edge of the forest, and her vague visions had directed her to follow the path through it. She had seen no signs of people, nor had she sensed anything about the place that would have caused folk to avoid it. That had puzzled her, so she had dropped into a walking trance to try and sort out what kind of a place the forest was.

That was when someone had come up behind her and hit her on the head.

Now she knew why ordinary folk avoided the forest; it was the home of bandits. And she knew what her fate was going to be. Only the strength of the hold the chieftain had over his men had kept her from that fate until now. He had decreed that they would wait until all the men were back from their errands—and then they would draw lots for their turns at her . . . .

Leonie was so terrified that she was beyond thought; she huddled like a witless rabbit inside her robe and prayed for death.

“What’s
this?”
the bandit chief said, loudly, startling her so that she raised her head out of the folds of her sleeves. She saw nothing at first; only the dark bulking shapes of men against the fire in their midst. He laughed, long and hard, as another of his men entered their little clearing, shoving someone in front of him.“By Satan’s arse! The woods are sprouting wenches!”

Elfrida caught her breath at the curse; so, these men were not “just” bandits—they were the worst kind of bandit, nobles gone beyond the law. Only one who was once a follower of the White Christ would have used his adversary’s name as an exclamation. No follower of the Old Way, either Moon- or Blood-path would have done so.

The brigand who had captured her shoved her over to land beside another girl—and once again she caught her breath, as her talisman-bag swung loose on its cord, and the other girl shrunk away, revealing the wooden beads and cross at the rope that served her as a belt. Worse and worse—the girl wore the robes of one who had vowed herself to the White Christ! There would be no help there . . . if she were not witless before she had been caught, she was probably frightened witless now. Even if she would accept help from the hands of a “pagan.”

Leonie tried not to show her hope. Another girl! Perhaps between the two of them, they could manage to win free!

But as the girl was shoved forward, to drop to the needles beside Leonie, something swung free of her robe to dangle over her chest. It was a little bag, on a rawhide thong.

And the bandit chief roared again, this time with disapproval, seizing the bag and breaking the thong with a single, cruelly hard tug of his hand. He tossed it out into the darkness and backhanded the outlaw who had brought the girl in.

“You witless bastard!” he roared. “You brought in a witch!” A
witch?

Leonie shrunk away from her fellow captive. A witch? Blessed Jesu—this young woman would be just as pleased to see Leonie raped to death! She would probably call up one of her demons to help!

As the brigand who had been struck shouted and went for his chief’s throat, and the others gathered around, yelling encouragement and placing bets, she closed her eyes, bowed her head, and prayed.
Blessed Mother of God! hear me. Angels of grace, defend us. Make them forget us for just a moment . . . .

As the brainless child started in fear, then pulled away, bowed her head, and began praying, Elfrida kept a heavy hand on her temper. Bad enough that she was going to die—and in a particularly horrible way—but to have to do it in such company!

But—suddenly the outlaws were fighting. One of them appeared to be the chief; the other the one who had caught her. And they were ignoring the two girls as if they had somehow forgotten their existence . . . .

Blessed Mother, hear me. Make it so.

The man had only tied her with a bit of leather, no stronger than the thong that had held her herb-bag. If she wriggled just right, bracing her tied hands against her feet, she could probably snap it.

She prayed, and pulled. And was rewarded with the welcome release of pressure as the thong snapped.

She brought her hands in front of her, hiding them in her tunic, and looked up quickly; the fight had involved a couple more of the bandits. She and the other girl were in the shadows now, for the fire had been obscured by the men standing or scuffling around it. If she crept away quickly and quietly—

No sooner thought than done. She started to crawl away, got as far as the edge of the firelight, then looked back.

The other girl was still huddled where she had been left, eyes closed. Too stupid or too frightened to take advantage of the opportunity to escape.

If Elfrida left her there, they probably wouldn’t try to recapture her. They’d have one girl still, and wouldn’t go hunting in the dark for the one that had gotten away . . . .