Where the Path Leads – Chapter 33

• MARY DRAKE

Please, Come Home

“The land is charred and black, my lord,” said the forester, shaking his head in dismay. “The ground, the trees, most everything. I was amazed when I found this wandering among the smoking remains, like a ghost in the nether realms.” He pushed a small waif of a boy towards Arthur.

            By the light of their struggling fire, his fearful eyes stood out from a soot blackened face, but Emily recognized him immediately as the boy who had been taking food to Sophia and who had betrayed them to Morwen. She took a deep breath, reminding herself about forgiveness, but it didn’t stop her from wanting to ask about Will. She had to wait, however, because Arthur sat him down, gave him some bread, and began questioning him about why he’d been wandering in the forest.         

            “He made me leave, sir,” Cedric said while chewing a big bite of bread, before gulping it down.

            “Who, boy?”

            “Morwen, sir. He made me leave the castle and go with him into the forest. I didn’t want to, sir, but he made me. Grabbed me by my tunic and pinched my arm.  Said he’d do far worse if I didn’t do as he said.”

            “Made you leave the castle? Not the manor house?”

            “Yessir, we were all there for St. Catherine’s feast. We’d just finished our victuals, sir, and I was having some mead with my father and one a my brothers. You know my father sir, old Adam Codger, he’s a beater for your hunts. I’m his fourth son. Cedric, I’m called. It weren’t my fault what happened, though, sir.”

            “Slow down, Cedric. No one is blaming you. Just tell me what happened.”

            Cedric hung his head looking at the ground and shifting his feet. When he finally spoke his voice quavered.  “Morwen, sir, he’s, he’s . . . dead.”

            “The steward?” Simon snapped.

            “Aye, sir.” Cedric, his brow puckered, glanced nervously at the Bailiff, then looked back at Arthur.

            “From the flames?” asked Arthur.

            “No sir. He died afore the flames, sir.”

            Arthur frowned, seeming confused by the boy’s story. “Tell me how he died, Cedric.”

            “It was the snakes what got him, sir. He had it in his head he must get a snakeskin, either a shed one or by killing a live snake. I’m deathly afeared of ‘em, sir, but he said he knew of a pit where the snakes like to overwinter and he was goin’ to make me go down into it and get ‘im one. I wouldn’t do it, sir, even if he beat me to death. I tole him I’d rather die at his hand than in a pit a vipers.

            “When we got there, where he knew they were, it was awful sir. They didna’ like at all being disturbed and began writhing and sticking our their red, forked tongues. I ‘most died of fright, sir. But Morwen pinched me again, hard. Here, see the back of my arm,” and he lifted the sleeve of his tunic to reveal deep purple bruises, “and I began to cry and try to get away. 

            “I guess he was na looking, sir, and one a them snakes must a bit him, ‘cause I heard ‘im holler, then he stumbled and fell in, and . . . .”

            Cedric put his face in his hands as if to hide from the memory, and Emily sat beside him, putting her arm around his shoulder for comfort. He looked up at her with pleading brown eyes, tears making tracks through the soot on his smudged face.

            Looking back at Arthur, he insisted, “I didna’ want him to die, sir, though the Great One knows, he spread no joy during his life.”

            He gave Emily a guilty sideways look, probably remembering what Morwen had done to her, with his help.

            “But Cedric. . . , how did you survive the Great Burning? You must have been very afraid,” Arthur said.

            “I saw the dragon, sir.” He sat a little taller and sniffed to stop his nose from running. “I can honestly say I saw it and lived.”

            Simon, who had been listening to Cedric’s story thin lipped and frowning, now leaned in a closer with interest. The forester, too, was watching the boy intently, twisting over and over in his hands the green cap he usually wore. 

            “The sky was all black with its shadow, sir,” said Cedric, aware of his rapt audience and spreading out his skinny arms to indicate the dragon’s immensity.  “The great beast belched out orange fire which rained down. I ran from it, sir, but it was no use. It was everywhere. I would ‘ave surely been burned to death if not for the green lady.”

            At this, Simon snorted. Arthur and Emily exchanged glances.

            “A green lady?” Arthur asked gently.

            “On a unicorn, sir, what lifted us up above the flames.” 

            “Humph” the Bailiff sneered, now leaning back, his eyes narrowed. “Lying brat! Just like all laborers, sir. They don’t even know the meaning of the word ‘truth.’”

            “It’s true, sir!” Cedric protested, appealing to Arthur.

            Emily squeezed his hand reassuringly.                     

             “ ‘Course I’ve never been high up in the air before,” Cedric confessed, “and I got kinda scared.”

            “Probably lost your victuals,” jeered Simon.

            “No, sir. Not that, but I kinda . . . don’t remember much.”

            “Probably dreamt all of it, sir,” offered the forester.

            “I believe you, Cedric,” Arthur said simply.

            “It weren’t no dream, sir,” Cedric insisted, “ ‘cause I remember the lady had dark hair and nice brown eyes, and she smelled like moss and leaves and fresh earth after a rain. An’ the unicorn was all quivery and snortin’, but warm when I sat on ‘im.”

            “Cedric, you said you were at the castle before you left with Morwen. How fares my family?” asked Arthur, changing the subject.

            For the first time in the cavern, a smile broke across the lad’s face, showing even white milk teeth which stood out in his sooty, tear-stained face. “Oh, sir, I almost forgot to give you Lady Rosamond’s message. Your brother has awoken from his long sleep.”

            “What? That is good news indeed!”  Arthur began to walk around as if unable to contain his joy. 

            “And your noble sister prays that if anyone should see you, anyone at all, he would beg you, sir, to please come home. She said that very specifically, sir: ‘Beg my brother Lord Arthur to please, please come home.’“ Cedric looked around at the assembled company, as if to gauge the effect of his words.

             Arthur stopped pacing. “Rosamund said that? Not my mother?”

            “I’m sorry, sir, news of her is not so good.” And now Cedric squirmed down on the ground a little more.  “No one has seen your good lady mother for a while.  She doesn’t leave her chamber.”

            “For how long?”

            “Hmmm,” Cedric scratched his tangled brown mop trying to recall. “They say since Monsignor St. George gave your brother the Final Ritual, sir.”

            Arthur stood still, looking at the ground, giving no evidence of the inner turmoil she imagined he was feeling. Had his mother left with the Seneschal? She wished she could say something to make him feel better. 

            “We should return, my lord.” Simon stood up suddenly as if ready at that moment.

            “Is it safe, forester?” Arthur asked.  “Can we find our way, with no landmarks remaining?”

            “Aye, sir.  It’s risky, but possible, I think, and I know my way around the land well enough to find the way home without a stick remaining,” said the forester, confident of his native element.

            “Come, Arthur,” Simon urged, playing again on their familiarity. “We have tarried here long enough. Don’t you think we should leave now?” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

            “What time of day was it when you came back, Woodsman?”

            “Afternoon, my lord.  Bleak and overcast with dark clouds, but afternoon.”

            Emily listened as she sat stroking Cedric’s tousled head where it now lay in her lap after he’d curled up beside her. 

            Arthur considered a moment, then announced, “We’ll sleep here tonight and leave in the morning.” 

            “We can make our way back in the dark, my lord,” Simon objected, standing up. “It’s no different than here.” He gestured to their surroundings where the fire had almost gone out and darkness was creeping back to reclaim its home.

            “The Woodsman brought back more kindling.” Arthur’s voice sounded weary. “And a good night’s sleep will help us all, especially Emilia.”

            Aware of the reproof, Simon plopped back down. 

            She said nothing to Arthur, but the truth was she’d gotten a second wind. The excitement of Cedric’s news together with her mystical experience had invigorated her, and she was afraid that if she slept, the memory might slip away. She suspected, however, that Arthur had his own reasons for delaying their return, unsure perhaps what to do about the Seneschal and his mother.

            But, finally feeling safe, she lay down in the darkness beside the small boy and considered all that had happened.

            They slept uneventfully and the next morning found their way out of the cave much more easily than they had found their way in.

            Nothing had prepared them, however, for the barren landscape awaiting them, which was as charred and desolate as the forester had said. Smoldering in places, a new, crusty black layer covered much of the ground. Their shocked surprise made them all quiet, especially Arthur, his lips compressed into a tight, straight line, his forward gaze abstracted, as if he were seeing what was not yet in view–the castle and what might have happened to it.

             How would she feel knowing that her own home had undergone such a disaster? It was the first time she’d thought of home in a while. She was still filled with sadness to recall that her dad was moving out, but now, somehow, she knew she could cope, knew that as much as she loved him, she wouldn’t be going with him.  She would stay home with the hope that her parents would eventually resolve their differences and reunite. And she had things she really must do, like finally starting to grow up, and like trying her hardest to pass algebra. In that other place—the “real” place that was her home—she would still be around mean kids like Damien Heller but that no longer worried her. He didn’t seem overwhelming. The old gypsy at the Faire had been right. You just had to jump off the swing and trust that you’d land on your feet. 

            Sophia had taken a chance just by opening the door to her, perhaps hoping for some change.  She hadn’t meant to cause trouble, but yes, she had shaken things up a bit, gotten people thinking. A calm had come over her that comes from doing your best, even if you don’t succeed. She felt a deep kind of knowing, and one of the things she knew was that it was time to go home. She just wasn’t sure how to do that, how to find the labyrinth.

            As they walked along in silence, she found an opportunity to fall behind a little with Cedric to ask him about Will. The small boy hung his head with shame as he told her that the Seneschal had sentenced Will to clean the castle garderobe, where he’d been working ever since. She learned with horror that the garderobe was the cesspool for the entire castle, and she determined at the next chance to speak to Arthur about him.  

            Very, very gradually, almost imperceptibly, the burned forest gave way to leafless trees that were only partially charred, or had escaped burning altogether. Once again, they felt the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot, and here and there, spots of green appeared: an occasional small hemlock, some creeping ground pine, brave weeds in the damp soil of a ravine, before the devastation finally gave way to larger trees that were bare, but from autumn, not from being burned.

            When finally they emerged from the forest, Arthur smiled wearily and Emily felt her spirits lift, for here the landscape looked much as it had before: bucolic rolling fields, now golden from the harvest of wheat, barley and rye. A carter drove his wagon loaded with cabbages and onions toward the castle, and laborers, their faces weathered and lined, were harrowing the ground and sowing seeds for next spring. They stopped to gape at these preternatural creatures emerging from the ravaged forest, an unlikely collection of nobles, servants and a child.

            Their rag-tag group followed the high road toward the castle for a long way, when Arthur finally stopped as they crested a small hill. She followed his gaze to the castle in the distance and gasped. The landscape around them might be unscathed, but not so the castle: some of the massive stones crenellating the top of it had tumbled to the ground where they lay on the hillside like the lifeless bodies of giant creatures. Stone rubble littered the ground, and on the wall to the right of the drawbridge, a long fissure rose from the ground extending almost to the top ramparts. Nature had her final say.

            As they continued along the uphill road, a rider from the castle galloped toward them. When he was within earshot, Arthur hailed him.

            “Rowan, my good knight, you have no idea how it pleases me to see you.”

            Rowan dismounted and bowed to Arthur. “Not half so pleased as we are to see you alive, my lord,” and he handed his horse’s reins to Arthur, intending that his master should ride. 

            “Our feet are already blistered from the heat of the ground,” he said, lifting a foot to display the singed bottom of his boot. It will do no more harm to walk the rest of the way. But yes, we are alive and therefore, I won’t complain.”

            The knight eyed the motley group, particularly Emily and her cypress staff. Arthur had insisted the staff was hers, and she had noticed on the return trip that she hadn’t grown as weary as the others; she had more endurance. She didn’t discount whatever charm the staff might have, since nothing seemed impossible to her anymore.

            “Would you have the good news first, or the ill, my lord?” the knight asked, as he fell into step alongside Arthur while the rest of them followed. Even the forester continued on, choosing not to remain behind in the devastated forest. She supposed the “green man” would not be dragging hapless laborers into verdure court for poaching any time soon.

            “We’ve heard about my brother,” Arthur said.

            “That is well, my lord, but the ill news concerns you lady mother. I’m afraid no one knows what has happened to her.” 

            “And the Seneschal? What does my father’s representative say about her?” asked Arthur, looking resolutely ahead.

            To Emily, his voice sounded heavy with sarcasm, but the knight looked surprised, then pained.

            “Naught, I’m afraid, sir. He is missing as well,” he said, bowing his head for a moment. Then, “The frights we suffered during the dragon’s attack caused many to run for their lives, sir. She may yet return, like yourself.”

            “Are any others missing?”

            “Morwen, the Seneschal’s steward, and a few of the laborers, I’m told. One called Isaac and another, Cyril.

            Emily hoped they had come to no harm from the Seneschal. 

            “But most everyone sheltered here, when the Evil One rose from the abyss,” said the knight. 

            They had finally reached the castle and were crossing the drawbridge. In the castle courtyard, they were met by a scene for which Emily was not prepared: knights and pages, household servants and chamber maids, groomsmen and hounds men, blacksmiths, the head cook and all his kitchen staff, the gardeners, everyone had stopped working to assemble excitedly for Arthur’s welcome home. He clasped hands with many, greeting them warmly. Cedric ran excitedly into the embrace of an old man she supposed to be his father. Even the forester was greeted by some of the falconers and dog handlers. The Bailiff knelt formally to pay his respect to Lady Rosamond where she stood flanked by her waiting women in the immense archway of the carved oaken doorway to the castle proper. 

            The party was joyfully ushered into the castle where tables were hastily being set up and spread with linens for an impromptu feast to celebrate Arthur’s homecoming. Servants scattered with all haste to the kitchen, the great room, wherever their preparations took them. Not having spent time at the castle, Emily stood awkwardly amidst the bustle before realizing that Arthur was standing beside her. She hadn’t noticed before that his blond hair looked dirty and his face, smudged.

            As if intuiting her thoughts, he said in a stage whisper, “It’s good to be home. I could do with a hot bath.”

            “Yes, you could,” she agreed.

            He laughed. “Forthright as ever, Emilia.  That’s what I like about you.”

            Since he liked her forthrightness, she told him right then about what had happened to Will.

            “Don’t worry.  I’ll send him back to the village, to his parents and his school. Father Lawrence has told me he stands promise to become a ritual leader one day.”

            She wondered what Maria would think about that.