The Fall of Arnon

Chapter 19

Without question, Lady Harview stepped aside, allowing the two silent men to pass into the flickering light behind her. The fire danced across the wall, waving and reeling in the darkness. Sir Ryan slid through the door and across the floor into the warmth of the burning fire. He turned around just in time to see the old woman close the door softly behind herself and waddle over to take a seat next to the fireplace.  

Her face was wrinkled and old with the kind of beauty that surpasses the ages. Her cheeks still held a glow and her eyes still eyed him brightly. 

She looked at Lerendo with a kind of motherly kindness, looking him up and down in one glance. With him, she was more severe. A hardness came over her features as she took in his. He wondered if she remembered him from the time he had so rudely interrupted her afternoon tea with the future king of Arnon.

"I remember you," she said firmly. 

'Well, I guess that solves that question,' he thought, amused.

"And, I remember you, m'lady." He bowed, all the time keeping his eyes trained on her beautiful face. 

She waved his words aside, laughing in an almost childish way. "Oh, don't call me that. I'm but an old woman. I have no need for such nonsense. You may call me May." She smiled brightly at him as the firelight shuddered across her face.

"Yes, sorry, ma'am," Lerendo finally spoke breaking the steady mist that had grown around them preventing anyone else to come between. "This is my..." He stopped, and Sir Ryan saw him wiggle uncomfortably in his chair. "Sir Ryan. And, Sir, this is Lady Harview. She was a friend of my mother's." 

As the boy said 'my mother', Sir Ryan could see a spasm of pain pass over the old lady's face. It had been years since even Sir Ryan had dared to think of the old queen. She would always be remembered as one of the best queens that had ever bequeathed on this earth the gift of her presence, and in one day, that gift had been ripped from all of them. Every single one of the townsfolk had felt her death like a knife wound deep in their hearts. She had been a friend to the poor, a confidant to the women, and a beautiful rose to everyone that ever met her. 

Sir Ryan had always found the death of the queen strange in all of the twisted facts. She had been found floating above the surface of Lake Lavinia, her face pointed toward the sun. The boat beneath her had been a well-made little thing, only big enough to carry one person, lying down. It was almost as if it had been made for her. No-one knew who had brought her there, nor who had wrought such woodsman-ship as was displayed on that craft, but it seemed she had died while attempting to give birth to another little one. 

The king had continued to deny ever knowing a thing about the death of his wife, nor even about the mysterious baby that had somehow disappeared from the face of the earth. But, something about it left the knight with a sense that somebody was lying.

"So, I suppose someone must ask the obvious question," Lady Harview murmured as if trying to retain the sanctity of the dark. "What brings you here at this hour?" 

"I know it is late, and I am sorry," Lerendo said apologetically. "But, this is important."

"Well, I'd hope so." There was something of a lightheartedness to her talk, but she remained serious as Sir Ryan spoke, his words coming out more rushed than he would have liked.

"We need to know what you know of any goings on around The Tendaraston," he asked, leaning forward.

"Well, I think you may need to be more specific. I've heard my fair share gossip that comes from that end of town. Only bits and pieces, you know. Whispers in the dark and all that." 

"Do you know anything about Fountain Lane?" Sir Ryan begged God that this last string of hope would not burn itself out.

"Ah, Fountain Lane, yes," Something inside of him started to hope. "I have heard some rumors. Mind you, only rumors."

"Yes, what are they?" Sir Ryan said, impatiently.

"This may sound crazy, but there is a rumor of a strange group. There have been seen figures in the night going into one of the houses along that street. No-one knows what they do there, nor do they ever seem to leave." She spoke in low tones, all the while her eyes fidgeting around the room as if she looked for one of the strange creatures slinking into the darkness of that home to be watching her. 

"And, do you know which house this is?"

"Yes, it's the seventh one on the right."

Sir Ryan's eyes met hers. The sparks of the fire seemed to fly out at him, burning his retinas. He knew that house. It was the one the dead woman had been standing in front of before her untimely demise.

                                                          ------------------------------------

Father Thomas had never been one for ceremony. Of course, he could see the place and even the needfulness of it, but he could never find it in himself to perform things never even spoken of in the Holy Book that many other priests called for as pertinent to the worship of God.

Yet, somehow he had managed to put himself right into the middle of one. The chanting, the melting wax, the burning fire, the strange hand motions all performed in congruity with one another made up a scene Father Thomas had hoped never to be apart of. But, not only had he gotten the part, he had been given the main role. Alongside, the woman who never showed her face, and a hundred other women. 

Being a priest, the old man had never had much to do with the other sex. He had heard their confessions as well as prayed over women mourning the loss of a child, but he had never been surrounded by an entire throng of them. But, he didn't feel uncomfortable. All he could feel was sorrow for the bitterness he felt as well as saw in their burning eyes. 

"Atmos, althos." They had again taken up a chant but this time while walking in slow formation around him. The light cast a strange glow on the faces of the innermost circle turning their faces into something from a nightmare rather than reality. 

Finally, they stopped and one stepped forward. She was small, tender, the kind of girl you could see running through a field of wheat, but instead, she tore off her black robe revealing a neat, blue dress. It fell down to her ankles and made her look rather homely when compared to all the other women standing around in their dark black cloaks. 

Her face was freckled from top to bottom making her look even younger than she had before. Her pitch black hair was tied tightly behind her head. With a flick of her wrist, the cloak covered the flames and they were gone, opening up a pathway through the orange flames.

"Follow me," the girl whispered and turned, sweeping her robe back onto her shoulders.

With no other choice, Father Thomas followed. 

He was led through the tunnel and step after measured step, he slowly ascended the staircase into the unknown.