The Fox and the Swan
Fionna
My Uncle Elidor was as dear to me as my
own father. My mother’s brother was a kind and unusual man. He’d studied many
years to become a Druid and was a master of his craft. When my dear mother died,
he returned to our island to help my father raise my brother and me. When we
were very young he kept a close watch on us. As we grew older, he provided us
with an education that could not be obtained anywhere outside of a Druid
tutelage.
Elidor was my uncle, my friend and my most
trusted confidant. He was always able to answer questions I dared not ask of my
father. We talked long hours of my mother’s childhood. To speak of mother to
Papa wounded him so; I did not trouble him. But Elidor was more than eager to
tell me of his sister’s childhood exploits. You could tell he and his sister
were very close as children. It seemed he regretted the time he spent studying,
away from his sister. Uncle believed family was the most desirable structure for
the preservation of all that is good in mankind. He revered all life, human,
animal, even the plants were held in high esteem. If he were to come across an
injured animal he would tend it carefully until it was strong enough to return
to its home. Though he cared for many animals, none were caged. They knew they
could rely on Uncle Elidor to do his best for them. Passing his love of
creatures on to Sully and me, he taught me how to communicate with the birds and
oftentimes I could get them to sing along with me.
Times were becoming meager for us. The
loss of a full year’s wool and Mrs. MacTaggert’s accounts were straining on our
family’s finances. When Mr. MacTaggert handled all the funds and we had a slim
year, he would extend funds against the following year. Mrs. MacTaggert,
however, was not so generous. She hoarded every penny. It was my belief she told
her husband she extended the same courtesy, as did he, then pocketed the
difference herself.
Papa worried that he could not provide for
us as he always had. I was of marriageable age and he thought to find me a
husband who could provide for us all. Not considered a beauty, he sought out
older men, who would not be offended by my unusual coloring.
We owned three quarters of the land at the
rim. The remainder belonged to a man new to Scotland. He was a Briton of some
royal heritage and my father thought him to be a fine match.
I did not like the man. He frightened me.
When Papa told me he had betrothed me to Laird Arwan Pheland, I fled to the
comfort of my brother and Tag. Surely, they could come up with a remedy for this
terrible mess.
The boys were fishing at the edge of the
island’s rocky coast. As I approached I heard Sully taunt his friend, “So you
think my sister is pretty? Jeeze, I love her, but that white hair separates her
from the beauties.”
Tag turned abruptly and cuffed my brother.
“Don’t you say another thing about Fionna. She’s perfect just as she is. Her
white hair does not separate her from beauties; it elevates her. She has a
beauty that surpasses all others.”
Though I was truly upset about my
betrothal, Tag’s words made my heart sing. To know someone treasured me was some
comfort. I loudly cleared my throat, to alert them of my presence. When they
looked up at me Tag’s face quickly turned crimson.
Even as I smiled at him my tears began to
flow. Soon I was consumed by my crying. They both rushed to me. My brother,
angered, wanted to murder the one who’d harmed me. Tag however made the quick
assessment I was not physically injured, merely gravely offended.
He rushed to my side and placed his arm
about my shoulders. He rubbed his sleeve across my face wiping away my tears.
“What happened? What have you been told that alarms you so?”
“Papa wants me to marry Laird Pheland.”
“Pheland, that pig?” Tag replied. “He’s so
old and ugly in a strange sort of way. Why would he offer his daughter to a man
old enough to be your father?”
I let myself slide to the sand on the
narrow beach and covered my eyes. “We’re so poor. He needs the bride price to
pay off our debts.”
Tag looked truly puzzled. “Why are you
poor? My father pays you no matter if it is a good year or bad.”
Sully gently lifted me from the ground and
brushed the sand from my skirt. “Yeah, your father did, but that witch won’t and
she is the one in charge now. Since your father has been ill, she even refuses
to allow us some mutton from time to time.”
“But why? What is one sheep more or less?
Through the bounty of the valley we have more sheep than any other herd in all
of Scotland.” Tag shook his head. It was clear the witch had reached farther
than the manor with her evil.
“Did you tell Papa how you feel about this
man?” Sully knew Papa would do nothing that did not please me. However, I knew
it was my duty to save our family, so I said nothing. I had no other choice.
“When?” Tag asked, “When does this foul
thing take place? How much time have we?”
Struggling through my tears and hiccups I
replied, “After the herd is taken to the summer grazing.”
Tag nodded, closed his eyes and pounded
his fist into his palm. “We need a plan and a way to hide you.”
“Hide me?” I cried, “Where can one hide on
an island? There are no woods or vast structures that no one inhabits. It would
be impossible to hide here. Though no one could find me if I stayed with the
sheep, how would I eat? Where would I find shelter?”
Tag paced up and down along the beach.
Finally he turned and said, “You will stay with me. I can hide you in the stable
and bring food to you every evening. No one will find you there. I trust the
groom, and Hagga hates the place. She says it is putrid.”
~ * ~
Tag
Spring all too quickly blended into
summer. The time for the sheep to be taken to the hidden pasture drew near.
Sully and I spent long hours pondering how to save his sister.
I’d been able to convince Da to turn the
business accounts over to me. As time passed and he became weaker, he relied on
me for the truth of the state of his company. Hagga resisted at first, but when
Da told her as a woman, she would not be permitted to conduct business she
acquiesced, albeit reluctantly. Each evening as I visited my father he seemed to
grow smaller. His once broad shoulders now were thin peaks of bone and his eyes
were sunken. He dared not eat anything Hagga prepared for him and sometimes had
to wait until I returned from the island before he had any proper food.
Fearing her scheme to poison my father
might be completed, I created a business relationship for my father with the
groom. Though Hagga questioned the presence of the man at the manor, she did not
confront the groom nor forbid him into our home. She feared my wrath and the
condemnation of the servants. Always aware of servants’ tales, she was careful,
lest she give them fodder for their gossip mill. When I was unable to bring Da’s
food, the groom would sneak bread and mutton to him.
As I fed my father the evening before the
lambs were taken to summer grazing, he smiled wanly and pushed away the spoon.
“No more, Rory. It is done.”
Mark of the Fox
Merlin observed Ninaway slip from her tent. He
had been watching, waiting, for her to leave the child. So many things
had gone awry since he left Arthur, Olyn’s search for him, and now the
discovery of another so like Kit.
While he did not intend to break his word, he knew it was his
obligation to right the situations. He and he alone on earth, was
responsible for the Ordinations of the ancient Druids’ fruition. They
must be completed as the Druids decreed. To ignore such a
responsibility could very well ruin the entire world. The Druids could
set their Ordination on another world. No one, other than they, knew
how many worlds there were in existence. Merlin dared not risk wiping
out civilization, as he knew it. Olyn had contacted him once, using
the ‘Veil of Obscurity’. Perhaps, he could do it again. Could Merlin
signal him to the use of the veil or must he wait until the other
wizard realized the situation was grave?
Merlin went to the tent, high on the bluff, where the child lay. As he
entered, the dog on the bed growled a warning, then moved aggressively
to the edge of the bed. Merlin, annoyed, swept the dog aside. The
animal offered no further resistance. He jumped from the bed and lay
quietly at Merlin’s feet.
The child was awake; her green eyes darted about the room. She saw the
wizard and looked up in surprise. Her eyes were clear, but still some
vestiges of the fever clouded her vision. Merlin reached out and
touched the tiny girl. As if by some primal instinct, she withdrew
from his touch. She grabbed the bedcovering and pulled away from the
wizard, her eyes never leaving his. Merlin chuckled to himself, this
child is wary, even if she doesn’t know how important she is.
"Child," he said gently, "have no fear, I will not hurt you, nor will
I allow another to cause you harm. You are safe. Ninaway will see to
your health and I will care for all other matters. Now lay back and
rest."
The fear left her eyes; she gently lay back on the large pillow and
the dog jumped up to his place beside her. Within moments, she was
asleep. Merlin reached over and swept the long red hair from her face.
A face so tiny it seemed to be that of a doll rather than a real
person. Her little hands wrapped around each other, were tucked
beneath her chin. How the child’s presence tugged at his heart. This
poor motherless being, who could well be another the Druids touched,
was without family and had only Ninaway and he to care for her.
Neither of them had any real experience with children. Merlin was many
centuries old and had never married. He never had the desire until he
met Ninaway. Ninaway cared more for creatures than people.
Yet, she was caring for the child with a diligence he’d not believed
possible. Somehow, he had to contact Olyn and get a message to the
Druids and Arthur. He peered out of the tent and sighted Ninaway
coming. Quickly he exited and hurried down to his workroom. He would
approach her as soon as she settled in the tent and pretend it was his
first visit of the day.
Ninaway entered the tent, her hands clutching fresh moss. Though she
often used the foxmoor on her pets, she dared not try it on a human.
She was unaware of the extent of the effect of the foxmoor and she
would not risk loosing her find. Though Ninaway cared little for
others, she recognized the tiny being as a valuable commodity. She
would use her as a pawn to further bind Merlin to her. How he studied
the child troubled her. Perhaps he knew the formula for the
transformation of the lass. This tiny child, so unlike any other
Ninaway had ever seen. This is the true key to binding him. With the
greatest wizard in the known worlds within her power, her own magic
would be boundless.
Fox in
the Mist
The woman’s arms near to broke my ribs, so fast
did she hold me. What would they do to this poor addled, pitifully thin old
crone? They would be well advised to leave her be in her mania. She’d done
nothing save protect what she believed, entrusted, by the Druids to preserve.
The old woman burrowed her face deep in the fur of the fox she clutched in her
arms. "McTavish, I fear they will find us this time. We can no longer elude
them."
As the footfalls grew closer, McTavish slipped from the woman’s arms, turned and
gave a sharp bark. The old crone rose from her crouch and followed the fox.
There within the mist stood the Druid priestess, Morgannia, her arms
majestically extended in welcome. As the fox scampered toward her, she bent down
and scooped up the animal.
"Well done, Tavi. You’ve brought her to me." The green-eyed ball of red fur
emitted a low growl of acceptance as Morgannia set her once again on the ground.
The crone, exhausted from her endeavors, fell to the earth as well.
At once Morgannia rushed to the old woman’s side and helped her to stand. As she
stood, her rumpled clothing fell loosely about her frail body.
"Dracha, I know this has been a long and terrible night for you, but you are no
longer in danger. I will protect you."
"How? You could never spare me the beatings, though you were his advisor. How
can you protect me here in this cold misty cave?"
"I’ve served the king as his advisor for reasons I cannot disclose, but my
service to you is greater. Now that you have found your way through the Moor
Mists and over the Braided Bridge, you are within my protection."
The old woman shook and drew her tattered cloak tightly around her shoulders.
Shivering, she recalled her journey. The mists were cold and damp. Helplessly
she wandered, clutching the fox to her breast. When she came upon the bridge,
her cold body seemed infused with warmth. Those gnarled branches formed the
"Braided Bridge", the portal between the two lands. On the one side, lay cruelty
and pain, on the other joy and protection. Yes, now she was truly safe within
the Realm of the Fey. Here Morgannia would protect her. His cruelties could no
longer be inflicted upon her. And, she could carry out her mission to preserve
the Moor Mists; the mists of velvet gray that offered sanctuary. This was the
higher calling, greater even than being a queen to this tormented land.
"Dracha," the sorceress gently tapped her shoulder, "have some porridge, ‘twill
warm you."
"Thank you, Mistress," the old woman responded. Morgannia noted the change in
Dracha. The woman was the Queen of Scotland, yet she addressed Morgannia as
‘Mistress’. Could she truly be the chosen one? Had Morgannia misread the
directives of the Druids? Reason flooded her mind and she realized Dracha was
simply the instrument they used to protect the fox in the Ordination. The woman
guarded the animal with as much zeal as one would a child. Fierceness she failed
to have when Evan snatched her only child from her breast. Perhaps her lack of
sensibilities was due payment for her failure?
Morgannia watched as the old woman gratefully drained the bowl of porridge. Tavi
sat near Dracha winding her full tail about the old woman’s chilled feet. Dracha
reached down and petted the fox’s head. Fatigue then forced her to lie on the
mat near the table where she sat. Slowly she drifted off into an uneasy slumber.
Her body twitched in recoil from some unknown demon. She thrashed about until
her clothes were drenched with her own sweat.
Tavi looked up in question to the sorceress. "I don’t know, Tavi, I cannot
protect her from the horrors of her own mind."
Convulsively the old crone clutched an intricately carved box to her breast. She
moaned softly, "Never, do you hear? Never shall you have this box. The Druids
entrusted me with its preservation."
Kindly, Morgannia reached out and shook the old woman gently by the shoulder. "Dracha,
you must waken. You need dry clothing lest you take a chill." The queen rose and
stood obediently as Morgannia undressed her. Until the priestess reached for the
box.
"No, you cannot have it."
"Dracha, I shall not take it from you, but you must take its cord from your
shoulder, that I might remove your tunic."
Numbly the old woman complied, removing the cord and holding it fast in her
hand. The sight of the woman’s emaciated body drew tears to the witch’s eyes.
How could I have stood by while he did this to her? She knew it was what she’d
been ordered to do, but the sting seared her heart. Dracha had always treated
her with the greatest kindness and she’d abandoned her in her hour of need. The
ways of the Druids were sometimes harsh.
Tavi circled as Morgannia tenderly dressed the poor battered woman in the
warmest of wool dresses. Though the garment had no frills or lace, it was woven
of the finest wool in all of Scotland, a deep green, the hue of the fabled
moors. The garment was made in preparation for this day. A day, Morgannia knew,
was sure to come. Even the most talented seamstress would not be able to hide
the gauntness of the queen. The dress hung limply from her shoulders. Soon,
Morgannia thought, you will fill out the dress and right will be restored to
this stricken land.
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