The Cauldron Effect, page 21
Cri, a flutter of blue in the air, clapped her hands as she moved about the room, admiring the redecoration.
“While you speak with our guest," Braden said, "I’ll pen another letter to the archbishop explaining what will happen when he arrives in Callington.”
“So, it begins,” Merryn said and twirled her hand at an empty spot. A little table holding a lantern appeared, then sheets of paper, ink and a pen stand. Next positioned before the table came a graceful high-back chair.
“Thank you,” Braden said and sat down to write.
Cri flew over and settled on Merryn’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’ve made up after your fight,” she whispered. “I was worried.”
“I, too.” She brought Cri forward on her hand so they could speak face-to-face. “I have a request for your queen.”
“Then you must come to court. You’d be most welcome. Her Majesty has invited you to speak on the subject of London fashion.”
“I wish I could,” Merryn said, “but we’re in the middle of a crisis and I must return to Callington post-haste. Will you ask Her Majesty if she will assist us there?”
“Fairies are forbidden to interfere in Wyhcan affairs,” the pixie said, fluttering her wings. “I wonder if I’m breaking it even speaking to you? No, the queen is aware we’ve spoken because I told her about the gown you gave me. So, fashion must not be part of the ban.” She clapped her hands, having come to a satisfactory answer.
“Cri, please try. A boy’s life hangs in the balance. Perhaps many other innocents as well.”
The pixie smoothed her blue gown over her legs, arranging and rearranging the folds. “I cannot enter into Her Majesty’s presence without an invite.”
Merryn glanced at Braden to see if he could add his persuasion but he was at the table, deeply focused on his work.
“What must I tell her?” the pixie asked, eyes downcast.
“That Dewer is calling on the dark fae. If he’s not stopped, these openings into the underworld may become uncontrollable, endangering your people as well as mine.”
“That sounds like court business!” the pixie said, brightening. “Perhaps I won’t get into too much trouble after all. I might even be rewarded. Do you think so?”
Merryn worried the excitement of a possible reward might make the easily diverted pixie forget the importance of the message she carried. She slipped a coiled ring from her index finger and twirled it until it shrank to a size to fit a pixie finger and offered the ring.
“If you carry my message, swiftly and accurately, this is yours to keep.” She bespelled the ring to remind Cri of the message and slipped it on the pixie’s forefinger.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Cri said and left. Then she reappeared, flew forward to hug the side of Merryn’s face, and whispered in her ear, “Thank you.” She disappeared again.
Merryn released her spell on the room and it returned to its original shape.
Once she and Braden stepped out of the stall, he gave his envelope for Merryn to deliver magically. “I’ll speak to the farmer about our departure. Should we eat before we leave?”
She shook her head. “We’ll eat as we travel.”
He gave a nod and would have left but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Yes?”
She hesitated and then said, “Allow Aunt Gwen to sleep on.”
He nodded, understanding her unspoken reasoning. “Not a whisper will she hear of our departure,” he promised and strode out.
Branwyn joined her. “He loves you,” the Fishguard witch said in a burst.
“Yes,” Merryn agreed, watching his departure with as much worry for his safety as for her aunt. Did he realize what they would face when they arrived in Callington? She wasn’t prepared to lose Aunt Gwen, but neither did she want to risk him.
“You love him!” Branwyn sounded more surprised by the latter concept. “A church guard.”
Merryn gave her an amused smile. “He is hard to resist.”
“Oh, yes,” Branwyn agreed. “He’s as appealing as a warlock.”
That made her frown. “Warlocks are not in the least appealing. They’re deadly. Don’t ever forget that.”
She left Branwyn to ponder that warning while she woke the rest of the sleeping Fishguard coven members, urging them to be swift but silent.
Merryn then went to see how preparations for their departure progressed at the farmhouse. The first person to come out of that building was Aunt Gwen, apparently ready for travel.
Braden, trailing her, shrugged and mouthed, “Sorry.” As he passed her, he whispered, “She was dressed by the time I reached the house. I doubt she slept a wink.”
The farmer and his sons followed him, each tipping his hat.
The Fishguard sage came out next. Ignoring Merryn, she went straight toward the stables where her coven members were gathered.
Merryn was left with her Great Aunt Gwen, who, though not a morning enthusiast, looked fashionably presentable in a cheerful yellow morning gown, and mismatched hat, parasol and pelisse.
“Aunt Gwen, may we speak?”
The elderly witch refused to make eye contact.
“Aunt...”
“Merryn, my mind is made up. I’m coming with you and you cannot stop me.”
The farmer’s wife hurried past her guests, carrying two large baskets covered in a gingham cloth. Steam rose from around the covers and Merryn inhaled the odor of fresh baked bread with gladness. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the scent wafted by.
“I asked them to include milk, too, and cheese and cold sausages,” Aunt Gwen said, watching the horses be led out of the stables by the farmer’s sons.
“You don’t understand how...” Merryn began.
Her Aunt Gwen turned to face her, eyes narrowed and mouth uncommonly grim. “I understand we may die today, Merryn. I understand all of our friends in Callington may perish around us. I understand we are at the brink of war with the church guards and possibly the entire underworld. What you fail to understand, my dear, is that I intend to use what little power I have at my disposal to ensure those I care for will be as protected as possible. That includes you and that dear boy who loves you. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” she said, a betraying blush heating her cheeks.
Aunt Gwen held out her hands. “I do wish to speak about another matter, however.”
Merryn took the elderly lady’s delicate hands, warming them with hers. “Yes, Aunt?”
“I’ve been thinking about the Fishguard coven’s agreement with the warlocks. There may be something to be understood there about warlock intent.”
Merryn looked at the Fishguard witches gathering outside the stables. Distrust of them still lingered in her heart. “They did help me last night,” she murmured and then looked into her aunt’s troubled gaze. “You think I’m mistaken in condemning them for consorting with warlocks?”
“Unlike us, they’ve lived in Wales among warlocks for over a century. Is it not possible then that how they see these powerful men is closer to the truth than how we perceive them?”
“Braden said something similar.” If she’d had this conversation a week ago, even a day ago, Merryn did not think she would have been as receptive. Still, she shivered. “Trusting in warlocks feels as repulsive as trusting Dewer. Yet, last night, I discovered I do not know all about that fiend either.”
“Make no mistake, Merryn, Dewer’s character and those of other warlocks are not the same. Dewer is a twisted man. Deserted by his warlock father and brought up by a vengeful fae mother, he can never be trusted. Your father was a warlock and your mother loved him.”
“For the short time I knew him,” Merryn whispered, fighting back tears, “I loved my brother.”
“Exactly so.”
“Last night I said to Aunt Morwena that we could not win this fight on our own.”
“No truer words were ever spoken, Merryn. I think you should ask assistance from the Warlock Council. Perhaps only one or two rogue warlocks are inciting the church guards. Just think, if the Warlock Council sides with us, we would be in a stronger position to face not only Dewer’s dark horde but the church guards as well."
Merryn heard the reasonableness of her aunt’s counsel, yet, the thought of turning to warlocks for help sent an icy chill up her spine.
“There is reason to believe we could reach a compromise,” her aunt continued. “After all, we have a common objective – the safe return of young Trystan.”
“Aunt, I would worry less about taking this risky course of action if I knew you would be safe here,” Merryn said. Was it asking too much for at least one member of her family to remain unharmed by this escalating fiasco?
Aunt Gwen shook her head. “When it is my time to leave this life, I shall do so with dignity and no regrets. Of that you can be quite certain.” She tucked Merryn’s arm around hers and patted her hand. Though she spoke with much courage, a tear rolled down her aunt’s papery cheek.
Merryn wiped it away. “You are my inspiration.”
“You, my child, are my heart. I could not love you more if you were my daughter. I have the utmost faith in your ability to see us safely through this troubling time. Now, do me proud.”
Merryn nodded and retreated to her stall. Her hand shook as she penned a missive to the Warlock Council, requesting their help with Mattock. She informed them about his casting mind spells on the archbishop and the church guards. She then laid out her suspicions about Dewer’s involvement with Trystan’s disappearance. Finally, she explained about the church guards heading for Callington.
Would they accede to her request for assistance or choose to stay neutral? Time would tell.
Just as she sent off that volatile letter and stepped back outside, a horrendous rumble shook the mountainside and smoke shot up. The ground shuddered as if a giant hand shook Black Mountain.
Horses neighed in alarm and tried to run. As the rumble continued unabated, the groom, postillion and farmer had their hands full restraining them.
Braden ran out of the stables, sword drawn. Merryn followed him to the edge of the road that overlooked the side of the mountain. She coughed as dust-filled smoke billowed up, making it difficult to breathe or see.
The ground gave way before them and Braden grabbed her arm and pulled her backward. They turned and ran back. The farmer, his family and the witches shouted in terror as they fled the ground giving way all around them. In an instant, half the stable was missing.
The horses strapped to the carriage screamed and raced for higher elevation, dragging the conveyance behind them.
Merryn and Braden reached the front yard as the horrendous shaking settled. They found themselves at the edge of the farmhouse. The road behind them was gone.
The horses, what remained of them, were scrambling up the mountainside. The witches, the farmer and his family had run into the house. With terror-filled eyes, they all now peered out the windows.
Merryn was glad to see her groom and postillion inside as well but she didn’t see Aunt Gwen and her heart battered in fear.
“Dewer,” Braden said.
She nodded. “Did you see Aunt Gwen go inside?”
As she spoke, a little wren fluttered down to land on the ground before her. Aunt Gwen changed back to herself and wiped away some lingering feathers on her face.
Merryn hugged her aunt, breathing a heartfelt sigh and sent up a prayer of utter gratitude to the Maker. Thank you!
“I’m going to check around and assess the damage,” Braden said.
One by one, the Fishguard witches came outside to join Merryn and her aunt. The farmer and his wife, who held their children with white-knuckled hands, soon joined them. Finally, the groom and the gangly young postillion cautiously stepped outdoors.
“Merryn, over here,” Braden called.
“Go, dear.” Aunt Gwen squeezed her hand in permission.
Merryn kissed her aunt’s cheek and then hurried over to Braden’s side.
He pointed to where his horse as well as the carriage horses had stopped, about twenty feet up the mountainside. What struck Merryn, and likely him, was the free stallions and mares that had gathered around the tied-up carriage horses. All of them nickered in distress.
“Why do you suppose they stopped there?” Braden asked.
“Because Dewer is a diabolical fiend with no mercy in his heart.” Merryn picked up her skirts and climbed the slippery slope. She guessed, aside from destroying half the mountain, the warlock had built a magical fence to hold them all captive.
A few feet past where the horses had stopped, she came to an abrupt halt, bouncing back on her heels.
Braden, who had climbed after her, caught and steadied her. He had a comforting touch. “A barrier, like the ones Garth builds?”
“Yes. We can check its perimeter, but I suspect it circles the entire farm,” Merryn replied. “I might be able to cross it – I’m good at crossing boundaries – but no one else could come with me.”
They returned to the farmhouse to inform the others of their discovery.
“What do we do now?” her aunt said.
“We pray,” Braden said, “for a miracle.”
“Why did Dewer even bother?” the Fishguard sage asked Merryn. “We’re capable of flying out of here.”
“They’re not.” Merryn indicated the farmer and his family. “Besides, what makes you think the barrier doesn’t go over our heads?”
“Let’s find out.” She nodded to one of her Fishguard witches who obligingly transformed into an eagle and took flight. She flew in an angle upwards toward a hazy layer and when she touched it, the air flared, flinging her back. She fell twirling until Merryn sent a spell to steady her and bring her in for a safe landing.
The Fishguard sage came closer to Merryn while the rest of her coven rushed over to fuss over their fallen member. “Dewer would have waited until he was off Black Mountain and onto a main road before triggering this spell. He’s probably half way to Callington by now, traveling at a comfortable pace.”
“Wouldn’t magic of this magnitude have drained him?” Braden asked.
“The barrier spell over the farmhouse, perhaps, since that seems focused for this moment. The large one destroying half the mountain, he likely set that spell up years ago, when he had the leisure to draw on unlimited power over a length of time. He could have been working on it since my parents confronted him. No doubt as a precaution against retaliation for what happened to them and my brother.”
“I hope the Callington witches are prepared for what’s coming their way,” the sage said. “For they’ll not have help from us now.”
Braden nodded to the farm family who stood apart from the rest of the group. “I’ll speak to them and explain what’s happened. They’re probably confused.”
“Tell them we’ll help in any way we can,” Merryn said.
“They are not our concern,” the Fishguard sage said.
“We will help in any way we can,” Merryn repeated in a grim voice. “We brought this ruin to this family and we are indebted to ensure they are taken care of. Or have you forgotten the witch’s code, along with all our other guidelines?”
“Well said!” Braden nodded approvingly and gave the Fishguard sage a dark look before he strode off.
“Miss Pendraven,” the sage began.
Merryn held up her hand for silence. “With all roads to nearby towns cut off, their sheep dead, their fields destroyed, they will starve if left alone to fend from themselves. Who knows how long it shall be before we can return, if ever. The matter is settled. We will not leave until we can find a way to help the farmer and his family.”
“I strenuously disagree,” the sage said in a belligerent tone. “Finding a way to break free will use up valuable magic, leaving us with little to spare on luxuries. I say we leave the humans here. They’re hardy mountain folk. They’ll find a way to survive.”
“We leave here together or not at all,” Merryn said.
“As Sage of Fishguard, I speak for all my witches,” she said in a condescending tone that bordered on a threat.
“I’ll be whacked with a broom,” Aunt Gwen said, sounding thoroughly offended. “How ungrateful you sound. This family fed and gave you a bed to sleep on and you would abandon them at the first sign of trouble?”
“First sign? Have you not comprehended what Dewer did to this mountain? Think what he could do to us if we deplete our energies on unnecessary magic.”
The moment they were able to, would the Fishguard witches fly off and leave Merryn and her party as stranded as the farmer and his family? At the thought, Merryn’s anger exploded.
“As Coven Protectress, I speak for all witches in Britain.” Merryn gave the women gathered about them a look that dared them to disagree. “You have brought this problem into our community, put untold innocent people in Callington and here in grave danger and tilted the balance of power between warlocks and witches with your flagrant disregard of our laws. You will now listen and follow my every instruction to the letter so we may extricate ourselves from this predicament. We will do so without any more harm to others. Is that understood?”
“Hear, hear,” Aunt Gwen said.
The silence that followed her speech rang as sharply as the boom that had shattered the peace of Black Mountain.
Branwyn reacted first. She pushed past her sister witches and came to stand by Merryn’s right side. Then another followed, and another, until all of them lined up beside Merryn.
The Fishguard sage stood alone and unsupported. Her lips quivered and tears appeared.
Merryn barely noticed for, while she had vented her anger at the Fishguard witches, a remarkable idea had spawned in her of how they could get past Dewer’s barrier and travel to Callington with the farmer and his family.
Excitement gave an extra spring to her step as she ran to find Braden.
BRADEN. Merryn’s voice brushed his ears like a lover’s caress. He turned but she was nowhere in sight. “Where are you?”
To your left.
A look to that side of the house showed her gesturing at him to come over.
Hurry! came the whisper.
“While you speak with our guest," Braden said, "I’ll pen another letter to the archbishop explaining what will happen when he arrives in Callington.”
“So, it begins,” Merryn said and twirled her hand at an empty spot. A little table holding a lantern appeared, then sheets of paper, ink and a pen stand. Next positioned before the table came a graceful high-back chair.
“Thank you,” Braden said and sat down to write.
Cri flew over and settled on Merryn’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’ve made up after your fight,” she whispered. “I was worried.”
“I, too.” She brought Cri forward on her hand so they could speak face-to-face. “I have a request for your queen.”
“Then you must come to court. You’d be most welcome. Her Majesty has invited you to speak on the subject of London fashion.”
“I wish I could,” Merryn said, “but we’re in the middle of a crisis and I must return to Callington post-haste. Will you ask Her Majesty if she will assist us there?”
“Fairies are forbidden to interfere in Wyhcan affairs,” the pixie said, fluttering her wings. “I wonder if I’m breaking it even speaking to you? No, the queen is aware we’ve spoken because I told her about the gown you gave me. So, fashion must not be part of the ban.” She clapped her hands, having come to a satisfactory answer.
“Cri, please try. A boy’s life hangs in the balance. Perhaps many other innocents as well.”
The pixie smoothed her blue gown over her legs, arranging and rearranging the folds. “I cannot enter into Her Majesty’s presence without an invite.”
Merryn glanced at Braden to see if he could add his persuasion but he was at the table, deeply focused on his work.
“What must I tell her?” the pixie asked, eyes downcast.
“That Dewer is calling on the dark fae. If he’s not stopped, these openings into the underworld may become uncontrollable, endangering your people as well as mine.”
“That sounds like court business!” the pixie said, brightening. “Perhaps I won’t get into too much trouble after all. I might even be rewarded. Do you think so?”
Merryn worried the excitement of a possible reward might make the easily diverted pixie forget the importance of the message she carried. She slipped a coiled ring from her index finger and twirled it until it shrank to a size to fit a pixie finger and offered the ring.
“If you carry my message, swiftly and accurately, this is yours to keep.” She bespelled the ring to remind Cri of the message and slipped it on the pixie’s forefinger.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Cri said and left. Then she reappeared, flew forward to hug the side of Merryn’s face, and whispered in her ear, “Thank you.” She disappeared again.
Merryn released her spell on the room and it returned to its original shape.
Once she and Braden stepped out of the stall, he gave his envelope for Merryn to deliver magically. “I’ll speak to the farmer about our departure. Should we eat before we leave?”
She shook her head. “We’ll eat as we travel.”
He gave a nod and would have left but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Yes?”
She hesitated and then said, “Allow Aunt Gwen to sleep on.”
He nodded, understanding her unspoken reasoning. “Not a whisper will she hear of our departure,” he promised and strode out.
Branwyn joined her. “He loves you,” the Fishguard witch said in a burst.
“Yes,” Merryn agreed, watching his departure with as much worry for his safety as for her aunt. Did he realize what they would face when they arrived in Callington? She wasn’t prepared to lose Aunt Gwen, but neither did she want to risk him.
“You love him!” Branwyn sounded more surprised by the latter concept. “A church guard.”
Merryn gave her an amused smile. “He is hard to resist.”
“Oh, yes,” Branwyn agreed. “He’s as appealing as a warlock.”
That made her frown. “Warlocks are not in the least appealing. They’re deadly. Don’t ever forget that.”
She left Branwyn to ponder that warning while she woke the rest of the sleeping Fishguard coven members, urging them to be swift but silent.
Merryn then went to see how preparations for their departure progressed at the farmhouse. The first person to come out of that building was Aunt Gwen, apparently ready for travel.
Braden, trailing her, shrugged and mouthed, “Sorry.” As he passed her, he whispered, “She was dressed by the time I reached the house. I doubt she slept a wink.”
The farmer and his sons followed him, each tipping his hat.
The Fishguard sage came out next. Ignoring Merryn, she went straight toward the stables where her coven members were gathered.
Merryn was left with her Great Aunt Gwen, who, though not a morning enthusiast, looked fashionably presentable in a cheerful yellow morning gown, and mismatched hat, parasol and pelisse.
“Aunt Gwen, may we speak?”
The elderly witch refused to make eye contact.
“Aunt...”
“Merryn, my mind is made up. I’m coming with you and you cannot stop me.”
The farmer’s wife hurried past her guests, carrying two large baskets covered in a gingham cloth. Steam rose from around the covers and Merryn inhaled the odor of fresh baked bread with gladness. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the scent wafted by.
“I asked them to include milk, too, and cheese and cold sausages,” Aunt Gwen said, watching the horses be led out of the stables by the farmer’s sons.
“You don’t understand how...” Merryn began.
Her Aunt Gwen turned to face her, eyes narrowed and mouth uncommonly grim. “I understand we may die today, Merryn. I understand all of our friends in Callington may perish around us. I understand we are at the brink of war with the church guards and possibly the entire underworld. What you fail to understand, my dear, is that I intend to use what little power I have at my disposal to ensure those I care for will be as protected as possible. That includes you and that dear boy who loves you. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” she said, a betraying blush heating her cheeks.
Aunt Gwen held out her hands. “I do wish to speak about another matter, however.”
Merryn took the elderly lady’s delicate hands, warming them with hers. “Yes, Aunt?”
“I’ve been thinking about the Fishguard coven’s agreement with the warlocks. There may be something to be understood there about warlock intent.”
Merryn looked at the Fishguard witches gathering outside the stables. Distrust of them still lingered in her heart. “They did help me last night,” she murmured and then looked into her aunt’s troubled gaze. “You think I’m mistaken in condemning them for consorting with warlocks?”
“Unlike us, they’ve lived in Wales among warlocks for over a century. Is it not possible then that how they see these powerful men is closer to the truth than how we perceive them?”
“Braden said something similar.” If she’d had this conversation a week ago, even a day ago, Merryn did not think she would have been as receptive. Still, she shivered. “Trusting in warlocks feels as repulsive as trusting Dewer. Yet, last night, I discovered I do not know all about that fiend either.”
“Make no mistake, Merryn, Dewer’s character and those of other warlocks are not the same. Dewer is a twisted man. Deserted by his warlock father and brought up by a vengeful fae mother, he can never be trusted. Your father was a warlock and your mother loved him.”
“For the short time I knew him,” Merryn whispered, fighting back tears, “I loved my brother.”
“Exactly so.”
“Last night I said to Aunt Morwena that we could not win this fight on our own.”
“No truer words were ever spoken, Merryn. I think you should ask assistance from the Warlock Council. Perhaps only one or two rogue warlocks are inciting the church guards. Just think, if the Warlock Council sides with us, we would be in a stronger position to face not only Dewer’s dark horde but the church guards as well."
Merryn heard the reasonableness of her aunt’s counsel, yet, the thought of turning to warlocks for help sent an icy chill up her spine.
“There is reason to believe we could reach a compromise,” her aunt continued. “After all, we have a common objective – the safe return of young Trystan.”
“Aunt, I would worry less about taking this risky course of action if I knew you would be safe here,” Merryn said. Was it asking too much for at least one member of her family to remain unharmed by this escalating fiasco?
Aunt Gwen shook her head. “When it is my time to leave this life, I shall do so with dignity and no regrets. Of that you can be quite certain.” She tucked Merryn’s arm around hers and patted her hand. Though she spoke with much courage, a tear rolled down her aunt’s papery cheek.
Merryn wiped it away. “You are my inspiration.”
“You, my child, are my heart. I could not love you more if you were my daughter. I have the utmost faith in your ability to see us safely through this troubling time. Now, do me proud.”
Merryn nodded and retreated to her stall. Her hand shook as she penned a missive to the Warlock Council, requesting their help with Mattock. She informed them about his casting mind spells on the archbishop and the church guards. She then laid out her suspicions about Dewer’s involvement with Trystan’s disappearance. Finally, she explained about the church guards heading for Callington.
Would they accede to her request for assistance or choose to stay neutral? Time would tell.
Just as she sent off that volatile letter and stepped back outside, a horrendous rumble shook the mountainside and smoke shot up. The ground shuddered as if a giant hand shook Black Mountain.
Horses neighed in alarm and tried to run. As the rumble continued unabated, the groom, postillion and farmer had their hands full restraining them.
Braden ran out of the stables, sword drawn. Merryn followed him to the edge of the road that overlooked the side of the mountain. She coughed as dust-filled smoke billowed up, making it difficult to breathe or see.
The ground gave way before them and Braden grabbed her arm and pulled her backward. They turned and ran back. The farmer, his family and the witches shouted in terror as they fled the ground giving way all around them. In an instant, half the stable was missing.
The horses strapped to the carriage screamed and raced for higher elevation, dragging the conveyance behind them.
Merryn and Braden reached the front yard as the horrendous shaking settled. They found themselves at the edge of the farmhouse. The road behind them was gone.
The horses, what remained of them, were scrambling up the mountainside. The witches, the farmer and his family had run into the house. With terror-filled eyes, they all now peered out the windows.
Merryn was glad to see her groom and postillion inside as well but she didn’t see Aunt Gwen and her heart battered in fear.
“Dewer,” Braden said.
She nodded. “Did you see Aunt Gwen go inside?”
As she spoke, a little wren fluttered down to land on the ground before her. Aunt Gwen changed back to herself and wiped away some lingering feathers on her face.
Merryn hugged her aunt, breathing a heartfelt sigh and sent up a prayer of utter gratitude to the Maker. Thank you!
“I’m going to check around and assess the damage,” Braden said.
One by one, the Fishguard witches came outside to join Merryn and her aunt. The farmer and his wife, who held their children with white-knuckled hands, soon joined them. Finally, the groom and the gangly young postillion cautiously stepped outdoors.
“Merryn, over here,” Braden called.
“Go, dear.” Aunt Gwen squeezed her hand in permission.
Merryn kissed her aunt’s cheek and then hurried over to Braden’s side.
He pointed to where his horse as well as the carriage horses had stopped, about twenty feet up the mountainside. What struck Merryn, and likely him, was the free stallions and mares that had gathered around the tied-up carriage horses. All of them nickered in distress.
“Why do you suppose they stopped there?” Braden asked.
“Because Dewer is a diabolical fiend with no mercy in his heart.” Merryn picked up her skirts and climbed the slippery slope. She guessed, aside from destroying half the mountain, the warlock had built a magical fence to hold them all captive.
A few feet past where the horses had stopped, she came to an abrupt halt, bouncing back on her heels.
Braden, who had climbed after her, caught and steadied her. He had a comforting touch. “A barrier, like the ones Garth builds?”
“Yes. We can check its perimeter, but I suspect it circles the entire farm,” Merryn replied. “I might be able to cross it – I’m good at crossing boundaries – but no one else could come with me.”
They returned to the farmhouse to inform the others of their discovery.
“What do we do now?” her aunt said.
“We pray,” Braden said, “for a miracle.”
“Why did Dewer even bother?” the Fishguard sage asked Merryn. “We’re capable of flying out of here.”
“They’re not.” Merryn indicated the farmer and his family. “Besides, what makes you think the barrier doesn’t go over our heads?”
“Let’s find out.” She nodded to one of her Fishguard witches who obligingly transformed into an eagle and took flight. She flew in an angle upwards toward a hazy layer and when she touched it, the air flared, flinging her back. She fell twirling until Merryn sent a spell to steady her and bring her in for a safe landing.
The Fishguard sage came closer to Merryn while the rest of her coven rushed over to fuss over their fallen member. “Dewer would have waited until he was off Black Mountain and onto a main road before triggering this spell. He’s probably half way to Callington by now, traveling at a comfortable pace.”
“Wouldn’t magic of this magnitude have drained him?” Braden asked.
“The barrier spell over the farmhouse, perhaps, since that seems focused for this moment. The large one destroying half the mountain, he likely set that spell up years ago, when he had the leisure to draw on unlimited power over a length of time. He could have been working on it since my parents confronted him. No doubt as a precaution against retaliation for what happened to them and my brother.”
“I hope the Callington witches are prepared for what’s coming their way,” the sage said. “For they’ll not have help from us now.”
Braden nodded to the farm family who stood apart from the rest of the group. “I’ll speak to them and explain what’s happened. They’re probably confused.”
“Tell them we’ll help in any way we can,” Merryn said.
“They are not our concern,” the Fishguard sage said.
“We will help in any way we can,” Merryn repeated in a grim voice. “We brought this ruin to this family and we are indebted to ensure they are taken care of. Or have you forgotten the witch’s code, along with all our other guidelines?”
“Well said!” Braden nodded approvingly and gave the Fishguard sage a dark look before he strode off.
“Miss Pendraven,” the sage began.
Merryn held up her hand for silence. “With all roads to nearby towns cut off, their sheep dead, their fields destroyed, they will starve if left alone to fend from themselves. Who knows how long it shall be before we can return, if ever. The matter is settled. We will not leave until we can find a way to help the farmer and his family.”
“I strenuously disagree,” the sage said in a belligerent tone. “Finding a way to break free will use up valuable magic, leaving us with little to spare on luxuries. I say we leave the humans here. They’re hardy mountain folk. They’ll find a way to survive.”
“We leave here together or not at all,” Merryn said.
“As Sage of Fishguard, I speak for all my witches,” she said in a condescending tone that bordered on a threat.
“I’ll be whacked with a broom,” Aunt Gwen said, sounding thoroughly offended. “How ungrateful you sound. This family fed and gave you a bed to sleep on and you would abandon them at the first sign of trouble?”
“First sign? Have you not comprehended what Dewer did to this mountain? Think what he could do to us if we deplete our energies on unnecessary magic.”
The moment they were able to, would the Fishguard witches fly off and leave Merryn and her party as stranded as the farmer and his family? At the thought, Merryn’s anger exploded.
“As Coven Protectress, I speak for all witches in Britain.” Merryn gave the women gathered about them a look that dared them to disagree. “You have brought this problem into our community, put untold innocent people in Callington and here in grave danger and tilted the balance of power between warlocks and witches with your flagrant disregard of our laws. You will now listen and follow my every instruction to the letter so we may extricate ourselves from this predicament. We will do so without any more harm to others. Is that understood?”
“Hear, hear,” Aunt Gwen said.
The silence that followed her speech rang as sharply as the boom that had shattered the peace of Black Mountain.
Branwyn reacted first. She pushed past her sister witches and came to stand by Merryn’s right side. Then another followed, and another, until all of them lined up beside Merryn.
The Fishguard sage stood alone and unsupported. Her lips quivered and tears appeared.
Merryn barely noticed for, while she had vented her anger at the Fishguard witches, a remarkable idea had spawned in her of how they could get past Dewer’s barrier and travel to Callington with the farmer and his family.
Excitement gave an extra spring to her step as she ran to find Braden.
BRADEN. Merryn’s voice brushed his ears like a lover’s caress. He turned but she was nowhere in sight. “Where are you?”
To your left.
A look to that side of the house showed her gesturing at him to come over.
Hurry! came the whisper.
