Childe Morgan Page 18

  “I wish you could have ridden with us, earlier,” Vera said, coming to embrace her. “I doubt your daughter would have approved, however.” She smiled as she glanced down at Alyce’s rounded belly, then nodded dismissal to her maid. “Thank you, Bairbre. You may go now.”

  As they drew apart, both of them laughing companionably, Alyce took one of Vera’s hands and led her closer to the window.

  “Vera, you really must look at this,” she said, her casual tone for the benefit of the retiring maid as she directed her sister’s gaze toward the garden below. “I fear that my son has been an exceedingly poor influence on yours. Our maids will be appalled when they learn how dirty three noble children have managed to get in less than half an hour.”

  Vera laughed and moved back into the room to perch on a stool where she could survey her sister’s weaving. Alyce had been working on the background of a hunting scene showing Castle Culdi high on its hill, with a band of horsemen galloping across the fields in the foreground, bright banners flying. Somehow, she had managed to convey a sense of foggy mystery, as though the riders floated across an early-morning meadow. Vera ran an appreciative finger across the tightly woven threads as Alyce sat down beside her.

  “How ever do you manage to get this effect?”

  Alyce gave a mirthful chuckle and took up her shuttle again.

  “We had a Kheldish weaver at my father’s court when Marie and I were young,” she replied. “He was old and sick, even when we first met him, but he still could weave. Father had him tutor us. It seemed a safe enough skill to teach Deryni children.”

  Vera glanced at the door, which the maid had closed behind her, then passed a hand between them and the door. The spell was not a potent one, but it would muffle their words beyond discernment by any unseen listener. Like Alyce, she had learned early to guard her secrets as though her life depended on it.

  “Was the man Deryni?” she asked in a low voice.

  Alyce shrugged. “I don’t know. He never said, and I was too young to know to ask. But I realize now that much of what he taught me was the ancient cording lore. Of course, he couched it only in terms of the physical manipulations involved.” She smiled as she slipped back across the years in memory. “Our governess, poor, dull lady, thought it but an advanced weaving technique. She had no patience with learning it herself. Had she but known…”

  “Praise God she did not!” Vera snorted. “But, could a human even learn the lore behind the cording?”

  “I don’t know that, either. It was only after he was long dead that I began to understand what he had taught me—and poor Marie never did manage to learn it. Now she is gone, and I dare not use it myself except to enhance my wifely pastimes, as you see here.” She indicated the tapestry with a sweep of her hand. “I sometimes wonder why we are given such training, if we may never use it.”

  She fell silent at that, and Vera did not speak. In that instant they had passed from idle reminiscence to consideration of one of the greatest enigmas of their lives. After a moment, Alyce glanced at the doorway again, then scooted her stool closer to Vera’s with a rasp of wood against stone.

  “I’ve had a message from the king,” she said.

  Vera looked at her sharply, apprehension stiffening her fair features.

  “Oh?”

  “’Tis nothing ill,” Alyce assured her, “other than the timing, perhaps. Sooner than I had hoped, but—” She kept her eyes on her weaving as she took up her shuttle again and continued.

  “Before Alaric was born, Kenneth and I…made an agreement with the king that our son should serve his son. It was an easy enough promise then, and even while he was still an infant.

  “But when we brought him to court for Prince Brion’s coming of age this summer, the king informed us that he wishes Alaric to come to court as page to Prince Brion as soon as he reaches his tenth birthday—sooner, if anything should happen to me or to Kenneth.”

  “Page to the prince!” Vera relaxed visibly and nodded. “But, that’s welcome news—or, do you fear his reasons, that he simply wants Alaric nearby, where he can be watched more closely? After all, ’tis no secret what he is.”

  Alyce shook her head again. “No, it is not that.” She drew a deep breath and let it out in an effort to relax, carefully setting aside her shuttle. “Vera, he intends that Alaric should be…bound to Prince Brion’s service by magic, not just as page and future squire and knight, but to assist when the time comes for Brion to assume his father’s full power.”

  “He would trust a Deryni with this?” Vera breathed.

  “It is only a Deryni who can do this,” Alyce said softly. “It is what Alaric was born to do.” She did not add that the king very nearly had been the boy’s father. “Kenneth and I agreed to this, soon after I discovered I was with child. The time now has come to begin his preparation.”

  Wide-eyed, Vera sat back and merely gazed at her twin, trying to take it all in, too stunned for speech. Then she came to slide her arms around her sister’s shoulders and they simply held one another, clinging together in fear and futile comfort.

  A little later, when their fears had been somewhat assuaged by creature comfort in one another’s company, they drew apart to dry their eyes and sniffle forlornly and force reason to prevail once again over human doubts and worries. Alyce swallowed with difficulty and drew herself up straighter, still clinging to her sister’s hand, and forced a tight, desperate smile.

  “Foolish women, we, to weep when there is a chance to give our sons a better life. We are of the High Deryni born. We were bred to better things.”

  Vera nodded: a curt, constrained dip of her chin, trying to match her sister’s bravery. “You speak truly. Has…has the king yet told you what must be done?”

  “Aye, some. He commands that first of all Alaric must be Named, according to the ancient traditions of our people—though how he has learned of this custom, I know not.”

  “Is it wise to Name so young a child as Alaric?” Vera asked. “He is only just four. By tradition, he should have near twice the years.”

  “The essential element is that he understands the difference between right and wrong—not his years,” Alyce replied. “What concerns me most is that he not be frightened at his first encounter with serious magic. The ritual is not dangerous, as you know, but it could be very alien to a four-year-old, even one as precocious as my Alaric.”

  After a few seconds, Vera said, “Suppose I were to Name Duncan at the same time. Would that help?”

  Alyce snorted softly. “Did I not just hear you say that even Alaric is young for this, and that a child should have twice the years before he is Named?”

  “Well, I cannot let you do this alone,” Vera said reasonably. “Or Alaric. At least if the boys are together, they will have one another to make it seem less strange.”

  Hardly daring to believe it, Alyce gently laid a hand on her sister’s shoulder.

  “I prayed that you would say that,” she whispered. “Would you really agree to do this for us?”

  “How could I not?” Vera replied.

  Alyce smiled and shook her head slowly. “How I do love you, dear sister.”

  “And I, you.”

  “Enough to do this thing tonight?”

  “Tonight? So soon?”

  Alyce nodded and took a deep breath. “I know it isn’t much time, but who knows what the future may bring? I could die in childbirth—and the king is not young. But now, tonight, you and I are both here, and the boys are here, and—please say you’ll do it, Vera.”

  Vera sighed wearily, suddenly looking far older than her twenty-five years, then nodded.

  “Tonight. So be it.”

  FOR their working place, Alyce chose the tiny Lady chapel that Earl Jared had caused to be built the previous summer, in the heart of the castle gardens. It was there that he and Vera had finally laid their stillborn daughter to rest, at the feet of the chapel’s statue of the Blessed Virgin; and it was there that Alyce had alread
y spent many hours pondering her situation and what they must do.

  Later that afternoon, while the maids tackled the task of scrubbing the mud off two exuberant boys—Kevin declared himself grown enough to take his own bath—the two mothers brought baskets of “sewing” into the shade of the garden, there to disappear for a time into the chapel’s cool recesses and make their preparations. Kenneth and Jared had gone out with a hunting party around noon, and returned early in the evening.

  After they all had supped, Alyce drew her husband aside and told him privily what he must know of the evening’s plans. Alaric had been long ago tucked up in bed and was sleeping peacefully. Sir Llion did not question that the puppy had been relegated to his room for the night, and would ask no questions in the morning.

  “I never guessed that Vera is your sister,” Kenneth said to her in a low voice, as they gazed down at their sleeping son. “Does Jared know?”

  Alyce shook her head. “Nay, and he must not know,” she replied. “Not because he might think the lesser of Vera, or of Duncan—he is a good man—but because all of them will be safer that way. Right now, you are one of only three people who know the truth—and Vera and I are the other two.” She closed her eyes briefly. “Actually, I lied; there may be four. I’m sure you remember Father Paschal, who was my family’s household chaplain. He knows, or knew. But I am not certain he is even still alive…though I hope I would have heard, if he had passed on.”

  Kenneth glanced away briefly, pondering what she had said, then took both her hands and grazed her knuckles with his lips before raising his gaze to hers again.

  “I remember Paschal, of course. Is he…one of you?”

  She nodded.

  “But—”

  “I know,” she whispered. “And I know that we are supposedly barred from the priesthood. But Paschal is Bremagni-born, and R’Kassan-trained. Matters in the East are not the same as here.” She shrugged. “But I have not heard from him in some time. He is quite elderly by now, if he still lives.”

  “And he knows about Vera,” Kenneth said.

  “Yes.” She leaned her cheek against his hand and closed her eyes, shivering, and he briefly stroked her hair. Then:

  “Dearest Alyce,” he murmured. “I think I understand some of what you are doing, and a little of the why. Both would be dangerous, if found out. But if one does not know, one cannot betray that knowledge, even under coercion. Can you…block me so that I may not speak of this? Please. Do this for all of us,” he added, when her expression mirrored her reluctance.

  “Very well,” she whispered. “Afterward. But for tonight, I need your active support—your protection. And I need your senses unclouded. Will you help me?”

  “You know that I will, dearest heart,” he replied, turning her hands to kiss both palms.

  Chapter 17

  “And thou shalt be called by a new name,

  which the mouth of the Lord shall name.”

  —ISAIAH 62:2

  JUST past midnight, they and Vera and two small, sleepy boys made their way quietly down to the garden and its mortuary chapel, the two boys bundled in fur-lined capes against the late-night chill. The mothers led their sons; Kenneth brought up the rear, a sword at his hip. Jared had taken himself off to bed soon after supper, declaring himself bone-weary from the day’s hunting, though the opinion had been reinforced by his wife’s deft suggestions. The rest of the castle slept.

  The two women had oiled the hinges of the chapel door that afternoon, so their entry was silent save for their whispered admonitions to the children to be quiet in God’s house. As they led the boys inside, the women’s long, hooded cloaks swept in a flurry of leaves that scattered and then settled as Kenneth followed inside and closed the chapel door behind them. The silence, after the latch clicked into place, was profound.

  Wordlessly Kenneth took up a guardian position with his back against the door, his dark green cloak almost invisible in the moon-dappled shadows. He had unsheathed his sword at Alyce’s gesture, resting its point on the stone between his feet, his bare hands curved over the quillons, eyes downcast. Though he seemed distant, almost unaware of the presence of Vera and the sleepy Duncan, Alyce knew that his seeming detachment masked an acute awareness, if not an understanding, of what he was being called upon to perform. Young Alaric clung to his mother’s hand and watched all with wide-eyed curiosity, not understanding why his father stood so still and solemn and did not smile at him.

  They had entered from the south. The Lady chapel was small and square, little larger than an ordinary room, its ceiling spanned by plastered ribs that framed painted frescoes of the night sky. To their right, a Presence lamp washed ruby over the carved ivory intricacies of the altar and its delicate reredos. In the far northwest corner, angled to oversee the entire chamber, a painted statue of the Virgin stood vigil over a second candle flame shielded in glass of the color of a summer sky. Beneath the flagstones at the Virgin’s feet lay the mortal remains of Vera and Jared’s stillborn daughter, reinterred there only weeks before.

  Moonlight filtered dimly through the stained glass of the east window as the two women led their sons into the center of the chamber. A small, square table lay in readiness there, its surface covered by pristine white linen that touched the polished marble floor all around, low enough that the children could see its surface. Upon this table four unlit candles in silver holders were set in a line.

  A sheathed sword lay on the floor in front of the table, half hidden by the folds of the tablecloth, its cairngorm pommel glowing in the lamplight like a watchful eye. Other necessities had been placed beneath the table, where the children could not see them.

  “Alaric, we must give reverence to God,” Alyce prompted in a low voice, suiting her own actions to her words as she made a deep curtsy toward the altar and the Presence symbolized by the vigil lamp.

  The child Alaric carefully pushed back the hood of his cape and bowed his golden head, stubby legs bending in solemn imitation of adult genuflection. Beside him, his aunt and his cousin also made their obeisances, young Duncan sleepy-eyed but attentive as he held his mother’s hand and watched her for further instruction.

  With a smile, Vera led both boys behind the table, the three of them kneeling in a line with Vera in the center. As she folded her hands, the boys did the same, watching with fascination as Alyce knelt beside them and extended her palms over the center two candles.

  “Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of all creation, Who hast sanctified us by Thy commandments and hast commanded us to kindle this light.”

  At a slight movement of her hands, fire flared beneath them so that she had to draw them a little apart, to keep from being burned. She heard Alaric’s sharp intake of breath at the creation of fire, and Vera’s hushed “Shh!” as she closed her eyes and continued the invocation.

  “Blessed art Thou Who hast kept us alive and sustained us and brought us to this place,” she murmured. “May we be consecrated, O God, by the light of Thy countenance, shining upon us in blessing and bringing us peace. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Vera repeated, the boys adding their own tremulous echo to hers.

  Next Alyce took up the two remaining unlit candles and handed one to each of the children, gently guiding her son’s hand to light his from one on the table. Alaric scrambled to his feet and watched the flame in awe as his mother released his hand, for he had never been allowed to hold a lighted candle by himself before. Beside them, Duncan was grinning widely as he, too, held his first lighted candle. Alyce smiled as she took each boy’s free hand and led them back a few paces behind the table.

  “Now, come and sit here, on either side of me,” she whispered, crouching down as they settled cross-legged on the floor and listened eagerly. “Put your candles on the floor in front of you and pay close attention. We are about to do some very grown-up things, which most children do not get to see until they are much older than you are. This is a very special privilege.”

  “We be good,
Auntie Alyce,” young Duncan piped.

  “I know you will, darling. Now, watch what your mama does. She’s taken one of the first candles that I lit. Alaric, watch your auntie Vera. Someday, when you are grown, you may have to do what she is doing, all by yourself.

  “Now, did you notice the four candles around the room?” Alyce gestured toward the larger, fatter candles set on the floor at the four quarters of the room and caught the movement of both young heads nodding.

  “Good. Now, watch as she lights them, starting with the one in front of the altar,” she instructed. “Those are called Ward candles. To ward means to guard or protect. The Ward candles guard the four quarters, and each of them is named for one of the archangels. Can either of you tell me who is the archangel of the east?”

  Both young pairs of eyes turned toward the altar, where Vera was kneeling to touch a lighted taper to the first Ward candle, which was set on the floor before it. Alaric glanced up at his mother tentatively.

  “It’s…Raphael?” he said a little uncertainly.

  “It is, indeed. The Archangel Raphael is the Healer, the guardian of the element of air. Duncan, do you know who is the archangel of the south?”

  Duncan looked to the right, where his mother had just lit the second candle, not seeming to see Kenneth, standing against the door.

  “That’s Michael,” he said confidently. “He has a big, fiery sword.”

  Alyce nodded her approval. “That’s absolutely correct. St. Michael is the leader of all the hosts of heaven, and he represents the element of fire, in the south. Alaric, who is the archangel of the west?”

  Vera was lighting the candle behind them now, and Alaric twisted around to look at her before returning his attention to his mother.

  “The archangel of the west is Gabriel, who-did-bring-glad-tidings-to-our-blessed-Lady,” he rattled off proudly, a rote answer that he obviously had memorized from some catechism. Alyce suspected that Father Anselm, the chaplain at Rhemuth Castle, might have had a hand in that.