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    Aed's Journey: The Complete Trilogy
    Aed's Journey: The Complete Trilogy
    Aed's Journey: The Complete Trilogy
    Ebook549 pages9 hours

    Aed's Journey: The Complete Trilogy

    By Charles G. Dyer

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    About this ebook

    This is the complete trilogy of Innocent Fugitive, Tragic Events and Strange Times.
    All pretty young Aed wanted was a normal life. But when she is wrongly accused of witchcraft any hope of that is squashed. Ripped from her placid existence, she is humiliated in front of all the villagers only to discover that she bares the marks of a witch. Being bound to the stake arouses her latent magical power. She escapes burning at the stake and drowning.
    Aed’s journey is filled with danger. Superstitions and fear of magic are a serious threat to her. Clan wars, bandits, thieves and highwaymen make roads unsafe for lonely travellers. Worst of all are the power-hungry wizards who can enhance their abilities by killing other magicians.
    Aitheda, her sorceress mentor has an incredibly powerful magical sword called Gobansaor. This sword will affect their lives far more than they realise. Aitheda's sanctuary could be Aed's only chance of peace and tranquillity but they have to leave.
    At great cost, Aed masters the daunting fifth element of Dark Magic. Will it fulfil her dreams of serenity or only put her in jeopardy?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCharles G. Dyer
    Release dateMar 10, 2017
    ISBN9781370379996
    Aed's Journey: The Complete Trilogy
    Author

    Charles G. Dyer

    Charles Dyer is a consulting engineer, former senior lecturer and former technical magazine editor. He creates 3D models to help with visualisation and realism in his writing.

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      Aed's Journey - Charles G. Dyer

      1 – Wrongly Accused

      As a child, Erin ma Milrey was a delight to her parents and an example of purity and beauty that was the envy of the other villagers. Regrettably, this envy grew into a malignant cancer as she matured. By the time she was seventeen, the young men were fighting for her favours and jealous girls of her age had started whispering malicious lies about her.

      The more charitable inhabitants used to describe Erin as gentle, kind and unselfish. Such traits were still valid when her long gleaming auburn hair had reached the slim waistline of her slender comely body that was as perfectly proportioned as a goddess.

      Blessed with a soft delicate skin that was apparently flawless and smooth with a flush of healthy pink, she set the hearts of all the men of the village pounding every time they saw her. Malevolent female tongues painted wicked lies in furtive dark whispers.

      The majority spurned the village idiot or amadain as he was called, though his real name was Elatha ma Tuired. Rather than treating him as a source of entertainment they regarded him as a scapegoat for all their troubles.

      Unable to bear seeing him outcast, as a young girl Erin had made it her business to befriend him. In doing so, she discovered that he was not an imbecile but simply hard of hearing. This impediment caused him to misunderstand speech and to speak in a peculiar manner.

      At first, only other children ridiculed Elatha but all too soon, adults joined the gang to poke fun at him. Erin's demure appeals to others to refrain from bullying Elatha were scoffed at and she was told that she was too naïve and soft-hearted.

      The amadain had adapted to the torment when Erin took him under her wing. As an act of self-preservation, he played along with the mockery and reciprocated by becoming a prankster. In teaching him to articulate properly, she noticed that he was quick-witted and dextrous. With her encouragement he developed these skills to become an entertaining mimic and jester.

      After an incident that he immortalised in verse, Elatha's station in the village improved to the point where he could live on the proceeds of his craft.

      "A miserly man failed to pay.

      His angry creditor him did flay.

      Chased from town to pass,

      He said, "On my sore arse

      I sit astride a sorry ass."

      In Erin's early adolescence, her parents forbade her to see him any more. It was the only time that she defied them or did anything deceitful. On the pretext of visiting a friend, after all Elatha was a friend, she met him secretly and taught him to read and write. He in turn showed her how to use a slingshot. Although she believed that she would never need the skill, he insisted that she learned to use it and she became quite proficient and deadly accurate with the simple weapon.

      Unknown to Erin, the very thing that her father feared was unfolding. Elatha was falling in love with her. She was the only person in the village to show him any compassion or basic human kindness. In her sparkling green eyes he was simply a downtrodden soul in need of a friend. The thought of a romantic involvement with him never once crossed her mind.

      Erin seemed to be oblivious of her beauty and the effect it was having on the village. She had weathered the confusion of adolescence without succumbing to curiosity or wantonness. The favours she bestowed on the young men of the village amounted to no more than innocent tasks, such as, carrying her basket or running errands for her.

      Regarding herself as too young to entertain thoughts of romance, she was not conscious of the teasing effects she had on the young bucks. She never deliberately flaunted herself or did anything provocative. Nevertheless, everything about her, from her smiling green eyes under a rich russet crown to her sweet fragrance of breath and body, titillated the imaginations of her admirers and taunted the resentful adversaries. Not being able to find any real faults, her sinister foes had created their own increasingly nasty fabrications. These lies were deliberately aired around her protagonists who initially leapt to her defence but in time began to believe the tales.

      Women and girls alike found their jealousy fuelled with every month that passed. Falsehoods, reinforced by superstitions, detracted from Erin's pleasant unassuming nature and undermined the solid purity of her personality. Forbidden fruits and unattainable desires often held more attraction for men than the ready meal or the brazen flaunting of promiscuous sluts. In the public houses, the talk frequently gravitated to fantasies with Erin when liquor loosened the tongues of men enough to disclose their innermost thoughts.

      Not only was Erin endowed with exquisite looks, she was a diligent scholar with an agile mind. Perhaps if she had been the village idiot then the hags would have been more tolerant. The natural order would then have been balanced and she would have been accepted as average. The fact that she was so pure and innocent, trusting and kind should have weighed sentiment in her favour. In reality, these attributes simply stoked the fires of jealousy. Her inability to sense the growing hostility and to take it personally was probably her greatest failing.

      Although her father, Conar ma Milrey was not a drinking man, he soon got wind of the tavern talk and started to worry about his beloved daughter's safety. The men could be tolerated as long as they left their crude tongues in the public houses. Their lecherous talk might have been quelled by a timely marriage. What was even more worrying was the gossip that his wife overheard. Village hags would stop talking when they noticed her approaching; even so, Moira ma Milrey had ears and she caught snatches of the rumours.

      At one of their clandestine meetings, Elatha told Erin what he had overheard.

      Oh Elatha, how can you listen to such ceilidh? She laughed and shoved his shoulder.

      Seal it? What's that? By their words your fate is sealed unless something's done soon. Really Erin some of the words you use must be curses to be sure, he said.

      Sorry, you know how I love the Old Tongue, she said the word carefully. Ceilidh simply means gossiping. With a disarming smile she added, And I'll hear no more of it. She firmly believed that his poor hearing must have caused him to hear incorrectly. However, she would be the last person to chide him on that sore point.

      Months went by and the whispers grew louder and more vicious. Moira and Conar would lie awake at night and exchange the stories they had heard. It reached a point where they felt that Erin should be sent away for her own safety, but they could not decide where best to send her. The fact that the girl had learned the Old Tongue, at great expense to her father would make her a sought-after scribe in a city but her parents were at loggerheads over which city would be best.

      Conar had a well-established drapery business, which he could ill-afford to abandon. Cloth made from flax and wool were the mainstay of his enterprise but he also held stocks of exotic fabrics such as, silk and cotton that were favoured by the more wealthy townsfolk. As the only cloth merchant in the village, his income had always been guaranteed. Lately, he heard that some people had bought fabric from other towns to avoid coming to his shop.

      Using Erin as a means of showing off her sewing skills seemed innocuous enough to Moira. She stylishly clothed Erin in the best fabrics in the hopes of attracting business to herself and to Conar. The village boys were delighted and the girls were furious. Such blatant displays were intolerable. What should have been lauded as an enterprising venture was regarded as exhibitionism. Elatha inadvertently fed the cancer by rhapsodising his unrequited love.

      "To the ire of the hags

      Dressed in coarse rags,

      Out came the village rose,

      Dressed in fine clothes

      To push mother's wares."

      Expensive education had been yet another reason to envy Erin. It set her apart from her peers and, in their eyes, above them. After all, only landed gentry and nobles were privileged enough to be educated. There is never greater satisfaction for the deprived than being able to destroy or deride the enriched. Childhood friends shied away from her soon after her lessons began. Erin had been too engrossed in her studies to notice the slights and cutting remarks.

      The whispers spread and grew like seeds of uncontrolled weeds. Before the concerned parents could stop procrastinating, the whispers became a mob-inciting roar. Accusations of witchcraft were now openly made. Erin continued to chide Elatha for his increasingly adamant repetitions of the rumours. People crossed the street when any of the ma Milrey family left their home above the drapery shop. Conar's business had dwindled to the few travellers who had not heard the stories.

      Too late, the amadain tried to make amends and he launched a one-man protest against the lies by reciting a verse that summed up the situation.

      "Lying in mousy squeaks,

      A witch the hag seeks,

      Though there be not one,

      She'll fib until she's done.

      Envy is the hag's itch

      That turns innocent to witch."

      In all the mounting hostility, Erin remained unflustered. She refused to believe that she was the bone of contention that the village dogs were gnawing. Despite her superior intellect, she was still a child at heart. When blatant confrontations were made, she believed them to be misdirected and brushed them cheerfully aside. This apparent disdain only made the perpetrators more frustrated and more determined to bring her down.

      Beneath her smooth skin Erin had a ruffled soul. Unknown to her parents or anyone else, she had been fascinated by and drawn to the pagan gods of old in preference to the oppressively dominating Christianity of her time. Her education had exposed her to the wonderful and fantastic world of the Celts in which beauty flourished and a spiritual loveliness prevailed. The ancient druids had revered nature and taught that the soul did not die but moved into another body when the old one expired. To her it seemed to be far more appealing than the grim threats of purgatory, hell and damnation that the Christians preached.

      One particular lesson had made an indelible impression on Erin. Her mentor had said that on the surface the imported religion appeared to have squashed all the pagan juices from the veins of the people. It was therefore strange indeed that the Christian clergy had adapted pagan customs, rituals, festivals and entities. Obviously he was not taken in by their preaching and he wondered why they saw fit to perpetuate beliefs that were so contrary to their own.

      It had amused and delighted her to discover that many of the saints that were honoured and worshiped by the villagers were thinly disguised adaptations of pagan gods and goddesses. The venerated patron Saint Brigid, who was thought of as the exemplar of virgins, was none other than the exalted goddess Brigit. She could say, 'By Brigit,' with impunity and often did. Her favourite deity was the goddess Epona, who Erin pictured as a petite woman with her long golden hair streaming out behind her as she rode about on horseback.

      Many of the village denizens had taken to wearing amulets to ward off the evil that they had convinced themselves emanated from Erin. The warding talismans took various forms, such as, cloves of garlic or a stone with a hole in it. Others protected their homes by burying a bottle full of nails under their doorsteps. All these charms and trinkets had their roots deep in paganism and, if the villagers only knew it, sorcery. Superstition bred fear and panic that were reaching fever pitch.

      Finally, a delegation of old hags, jealous competitors and hen-pecked husbands approached the village council and demanded that Erin be tried as a witch. Trumped up charges of infanticide, causing crop failures and illnesses were levelled at the girl. The council were faced with the unenviable choices of a riot if they did not act and the spilling of innocent blood if they did.

      Early the next morning rough hands ripped open the door of the draper's shop and heavy booted feet thundered up the stairs to wrench the terrified girl from her bed. Her parents were threatened at dagger point to remain in their bed. Erin was frog-marched out of the shop and bound with rope before being thrown into an ox-cart.

      The cart trundled off to the village meeting hall amidst shouts from her captors. We have the witch! Come and testify against her.

      Amidst a hail of rotten vegetables, Erin wept quietly against the splintery boards of the cart. I'm not a witch. Epona help me, am I? The more cruel jeering assailants added pain to her anguish by pelting her with harder objects, such as fresh turnips and beets. Long before she arrived at the hall, she was bruised, dripping with a foul-smelling slimy mess and shivering uncontrollably.

      She wondered bitterly if her pagan leanings were to blame. If she had embraced Christianity more sincerely would she be in this predicament? Despite her doubts, she felt compelled to silently appeal to the old gods rather than the new. They seemed to be so much more forgiving and co-operative with people than the Holy Trinity.

      The farce of a trial was conducted under the watchful eye of the mayor, overshadowed by dark-mantled clergy. After the accusations had been made by dozens of screaming women and some reluctant men egged on by hysterical wives, some lechers demanded that she be stripped naked on the pretext of looking for the mark of a witch. Elatha watched in horror, knowing that he dare not interfere unless he wanted to suffer the same fate.

      The ropes were roughly removed and eager hands groped at her chest and elsewhere when the flimsy vegetable-stained nightgown was torn from her trembling body. Flushed with embarrassment and shaking with fear, she tried to hide herself behind her hands. Her arms were almost torn from their sockets as they were wrenched out of the way to allow callused fingers to poke and fumble over every contour, and explore places where no hands had been before. Tears washed narrow tracks in the grime on her bruised face.

      The multitude of bruises and marks Erin had acquired confounded her examiners and slowed the process. Here it is! The mark of the witch! A triumphant but frightened shriek from one of her persecutors echoed around the hall. Tormentors and accusers alike shrank back in horror. The clerics rapidly crossed themselves and bowed their hooded heads. A small flame-shaped birthmark stood out like a mark of damnation on her neatly rounded buttock. Erin had never even been aware of its presence.

      That was enough to meet the mob's needs, vindication for their accusations and lies. Burn the witch! The chant became more urgent and was accompanied by stamping feet. The mayor threw his hands in the air. He had not believed the charges nor did he regard the birthmark as proof but the matter was out of his hands, he would put his own life in jeopardy if he ruled against the indictments and evidence. That was a risk he was not prepared to take, no matter what his personal feelings were.

      A hag rasped in a loud voice, We should've baked Beltaine cakes.

      Someone nearby cracked her on the head. Don't be daft woman, the feast of Beltaine has been and gone.

      Aye and besides which we wouldn't want to foul the sacred bonfire with the stink of a witch, another said.

      A supporter of the idea cackled, Well the witch could be seen as the Beltaine carline that mimes a sacrifice, only it would real this time. We could make sure that she drew the piece of bannock with the black spot.

      The frightened mayor and a few good people left the hall in disgust and wandered away from the madness. On the square outside, a stake had already been driven into the soft soil of the small grass-covered common. Frenzied men and women were rushing about to collect wood and returning to pile it around the stake. The jostling mob elbowed and cuffed each other to gain the best position to witness Erin's fiery demise.

      A tempest of a storm began as Erin was escorted from the hall. Thunder from nearby lightning strikes deafened the mob and some people started saying that it was the wrath of God against their wickedness and that He was showing his displeasure at the forthcoming execution. Through her terror, Erin had the small satisfaction of seeing one of her accusers trip and fall facedown in a muddy puddle.

      Erin had been covered in crudely cut sackcloth and bound with ropes. A few steps from the hall, she had mercifully fainted and her limp form was dragged to the stake. Adults and children alike spat at her body as it was hauled past. She was hoisted up and tightly tied to the post. Lamp oil was sprinkled liberally over the heaped wood and debris around the stake. Someone found half a barrel of pitch and poured it over the lumber for good measure. The clerics paced back and forth like crows waiting for their victim to die.

      She woke up and felt the ropes cutting into her soft skin. Suddenly a surge of inner strength frightened her almost as much as the lunacy around her. Believing it to be one of her pagan deities she pleaded quietly between her teeth. Help me Epona. Gradually this strange power filled her mind to shut out the sounds of the cackling hags, although she could still see their twisted features and the ugly mouthing of unheard words through the pouring rain.

      Concentrating, she drew on the strength and became calm. An inner voice reassured her that she would survive and do great things with her life. She thought of the birthmark. Flame-shaped they said, I wish I had known about it. Mother must have known it was there but she never mentioned it.

      Cries of, Repent witch! Fell on deaf ears. Erin focussed on the torches that were being brought to her funeral pyre. She thought it would be a fitting omen if they were snuffed out before they could be thrown into the pile of wood that surrounded her. The wood was too wet and the heavy rain extinguished torches before the flames could catch. Erin blinked her disbelief at the still steaming torches.

      The torchbearers turned pale and looked at one another. Maybe she's not a witch after all, one said, licking rainwater from his lips.

      Aye, it is a sign from the Lord to stop this wicked murder. The second executioner said and made the sign of the cross.

      Perhaps she used magic to kill the flames. She must be a witch, another exclaimed.

      Someone shouted from the crowd, Don't be daft you fools. Can't you see it's raining.

      A second attempt to set fire to the kindling and lumber around Erin was thwarted in the same manner. The third time, the torchbearers shielded the flames from the weather. The pitch burned and black oily smoke curled around the stake and slid up her nose. She sneezed and coughed. The heat and crackling sounds of wood burning at her feet riveted her attention on the heart of the fire.

      The mob sucked in its breath as one person. The rain came down harder in wind driven sheets that smothered the flames from the wood and the fire was gone. A stunned silence lasted for more than a minute. Erin murmured her thanks to Epona. Slowly whispers echoed the sentiments of the torchbearers. The accusers and liars raised their voices in further condemnation and drowned their words out. The doubters thought it best not to side with the poor girl even if she was not a witch.

      The ugly mood reached a new crescendo and they took up the cry. If she won't burn then she'll drown. To the ducking stool with her, drown the witch. The crowd moved to the edge of the common where the Aldaren River flowed through the centre of the village, known as Buide Cnoc for the yellow hill that overlooked it.

      A hastily erected trestle was fitted with a long pole and a chair was tied to one end. Erin was marched at spear point to the chair. She remained calm as she gazed at the water flowing slowly by. A leaf floated past and she watched it until it was out of sight. Everything seemed to have slowed down. She silently appealed to Epona to help her again.

      Two men appeared to strap her to the chair with ropes. One of them was cloaked and hooded. He stood to one side and let the other do most of the work. When it was done the hooded man spoke gruffly. Here, let me check the knots. The other man stepped aside muttering to himself. The hooded man deftly cut the ropes, leaving thin strands to hold them in place. He slipped the knife into Erin's hand and whispered, Swim underwater. He stepped back and said loudly, May God have mercy on your soul. Erin knew then that her benefactor was Elatha and that he was using his mastery of mimicry to hide his identity as he had used his sleight of hand skills to cut her ropes unobserved.

      The ducking stool was manhandled into position with her suspended over the deep turbid water. She focussed on the men holding the other end of the pole. As they lunged forward and thrust the pole upwards, she took a deep breath. The instant the water closed over her head she reversed the knife in her hand and hacked at the remaining threads of her bonds. The men on the bank wedged a second trestle under their end of the beam to keep the stool submerged.

      Local tradition for drowning witches demanded a count of one hundred drum rolls. Erin could hear the muted sounds of the drum and the crowd shouting out the numbers as she struggled to untangle herself.

      Elatha had disappeared the instant that she vanished beneath the Aldaren's murky grey waters. He went into a house upstream from the trestle and frantically struck steel to flint. In moments he had a fire going and he piled everything that he could find onto it.

      Erin was free. She dropped the knife and put all her effort into swimming. Shivering from the shock and cold, black spots jumped and swam before her eyes. She desperately needed to breathe. Elatha ma Tuired shouted and pointed from the midst of the crowd. Fire! Fire!

      Precious seconds later, every head was facing the burning house. Erin surfaced twenty paces from the trestle. The only person that saw her was the amadain and he smiled. Sucking in one deep breath, she dived down to swim away with the current. The tally of drum rolls had reached ten. Most of the crowd dispersed to fight the fire. The drummer continued to beat his drum. The few remaining people doggedly called out the numbers.

      Aided by the current, Erin was able to swim fifty paces at time before she needed more air. The amadain saw her surface three more times before she was out of sight. The rain abated to a steady downpour that would hide any tracks she made when she stepped out of the water. He sighed and flicked the hood of his cloak back. The counters shouted, Fifty-two.

      As she swam, she thought, By Brigit, Elatha was right about the rumours and bless him for saving me. I must be a witch I'm marked as one. I thought witches were wicked and mean. Surely I am not evil or nasty. Everyone has always been kind to me and I have been polite and kind in return. Oh Epona what have I done to deserve this cruel fate?

      As if in reply to her desperate question, her inner voice again reassured her that all would be well and that she would achieve great things. She gave thanks to the goddess and stayed in the water.

      Once she was out of sight of Buide Cnoc, she lay floating on her back and allowed the river to take her where it meandered through the grain fields of Tarngair Mag (the Plains of Promise). The rain stopped and the dark clouds thinned to give way to a pale grey sky.

      The jagged peaks of the Benn na Lune (Mountains of the Moon) slowly receded into a greyish purple haze. Erin thought that it looked like a giant caterpillar nibbling at the edges of the fields. The distant ranges were the source of the Aldaren River that was carrying her to freedom.

      Wheat, barley and rye rushed by as in a dream. Erin was numbed with cold and the rope burns stung. She stared at the bland sky and wondered what was to become of her and how her mother and father would survive the stigma of being the parents of a witch. I'm sure that Elatha will be safe. I doubt that anyone saw what he did. I hope that Father has the sense to get out of Buide Cnoc as soon as possible.

      She wondered if her erstwhile neighbours would mount a search and ride ahead to warn other villages and towns that a witch was on the loose. No doubt they'll exaggerate what happened to make me sound evil and dangerous. Where can I go now? I've no money or clothes, bar this sacking. Why don't I feel scared? What has happened to me?

      Some instinct made her flip over on her belly and she saw the distant roof tops of Dun Sava. A large town had sprung up around the castle of Sava thanks to the prosperity of Tarngair Mag. I can't stop here, it would be too obvious a destination, she said aloud and wished that she really did have the magic of a witch.

      Rubbing her fingers together, she thought how strange it was that the skin had not wrinkled from such prolonged submersion in water. Her pain and discomfort persuaded her that she was neither dead nor dreaming. How strange the entire day had been. She had never before felt the power that had calmed her. Was that magic? She swam with her eyes closed most of the time.

      Questions popped in and out of her thoughts. I wonder if Mother has this power too? They say that real witchcraft is an inherited trait. This must have been real sorcery and magic. What else could it be? Of course, Elatha is the real reason why I escaped the ducking stool but the fire and that incredible rain seems like magic to me. Why am I so calm and why don't I feel frightened?

      The river washed away the veil of trust that she had worn. The realisation that events of the recent past had been directed against her was saddening indeed. A conscious reconstruction of the past few months lead her to tally those who had shown malice towards her. More than half the village had been mean and nasty. Erin then thought about those that had been kind to her and she was even more shocked to discover that the numbers were so few. How could she have been so blind to her surroundings, so insensitive to such strong feelings? Why had her parents not noticed, or had they kept quiet to protect her? Why had she ignored Elatha's warnings?

      By the time Erin had drifted passed Dun Sava the sun had set. The darkness made her open her eyes and she sensed that she was out of danger. Erin wracked her brain to try to remember the details of her father's maps that she had once looked at a long time ago. Dun Sava lies in the middle of Tarngair Mag, so I should be deep into the farmlands by morning, but what lies beyond the grain? Oh of course there's Ath Aldaren and the Great Road to the North. I think that would be a good road to take.

      Hunger began to gnaw at her. Her last meal had been a full day and a night ago. She gazed at the dark water in the moonlight and thought of the fish swimming below her. I wonder if the fish feel as cold as I do. She shivered.

      By Brigit, this must surely be a dream, she thought. Surely a dream wouldn't last so long and dreams are disjointed. This must truly be happening. Lord knows why or how, but it can't be my imaginings. Erin laughed bitterly at the irony of her reference to the Christian god. It was because of Him that witchcraft had become an unacceptable practice.

      Like sinister ranks of underworld soldiers, rows of trees that served as windbreaks to protect the crops marked the character of Tarngair Mag. The Aldaren banks also boasted trees along most of its length. The shadowy fingers of branches dipped into the water in places. In the light of the moon, the windbreaks made dark battle lines in the pale grain fields. Occasionally, a yellow light shone from the window of an isolated farmhouse to break the silvery nightscape. The tranquillity of the evening was broken only by the soft swishing sound of water around Erin and the infrequent turbulence of eddies in distortions of the banks.

      Witch indeed, she said aloud. If I were a witch, I'd have scalded those liars and flown away on a broomstick. She flung her arms out, trailing her hands like wings. Water got up her nose making her splutter; she recovered and giggled. Then she reckoned that if she was anything at all, she must be a white witch. After all white witches do good and she had never wronged anyone or had an evil thought.

      Reciting her favourite verse from an ancient lay dedicated to the horse goddess Epona reinforced the sense of inner peace and strength that Erin derived from the strange power that still exhilarated her chilled body.

      "Bitter is the wind's air tonight

      Tossing the sea's hair so white.

      But I am no weak moaner

      As I admire sweet Epona."

      Shortly before dawn she was feeling stiff and cold. Ath Aldaren's buildings were silhouetted against the paling sky. She turned and swam towards the northern bank. Her legs felt unsteady as she scrambled onto dry land. The nearest buildings were a mile away. Erin stripped off the sacking and wrung out as much of the water as she could before putting it back on as modestly as possible.

      Heading Northwest across a wheat field, Erin's bare feet were soon cut and bleeding. She was not used to being without shoes but she walked on, determined to reach the Great North Road before first light. The coarse sackcloth chaffed against her tender skin. She gritted her teeth against pain and cold.

      Her face felt puffed up from the bruises, several places on her body were almost as tender and the rope burns looked as nasty as they felt. On reaching the road, she turned towards the town of Ath Aldaren. To anyone her saw her now; it would appear that she was a traveller from the North.

      As long as she kept out of the ruts made by heavy wagons, the cool smooth cobbles were kinder to her feet than the wheat had been. Erin was tired and numb with cold. She looked as though she had walked all night. The rough sacking hid most of her beautiful shape from the early risers that filtered onto the streets. She stepped doggedly down the main road, which cut straight through the large town.

      A sign swayed gently in the fresh morning breeze. 'Great North Road Public House', hmm, not much imagination behind that name. Let's hope that they are decent folk. She mumbled as she mounted the wooden steps and opened the door.

      The innkeeper was a heavy man with no hair on his head but his bear-like arms bristled with fur. Go on be off with you. I'll not have the likes of you here, he bellowed before she could open her mouth.

      Please good sir, I was robbed on the Great North Road. I'm not a beggar . . . She tried to continue but the innkeeper grabbed a fistful of sacking and her hair, twisting it as he shoved her through the door.

      Half a mile further down the road she tried again at the red painted 'Ath Arms'. The innkeeper was still in bed but the cook saw her and gave her a hunk of bread and a piece of cheese. Take this and leave child. I want no trouble and that's what you'll get if Mister ma Gran comes down and finds you here.

      Thank you kindly Mistress, but I want to work to get some clothes. I was robbed. She started sniffing. Inwardly she was surprised at how easily she humbled herself. She thought that the villagers would have liked to see her in her present state; bedraggled, unkempt and reduced to a shadow of her former glory.

      Now, now child, don't you go crying on me. The matronly woman looked anxiously upstairs. What's done cannot be helped. I have nothing to give save the Master's food and that's not mine to give. Run along and try at the 'Wheat and Chaff', where you'll find kindly folk.

      Thanking the cook again, Erin left, eating the cheese and bread in alternate mouthfuls. The food was all gone long before she reached the 'Wheat and Chaff'. She walked over the wide stone bridge that crossed the Aldaren. It had long ago replaced the ford that gave the town its name. Ath being the Old Tongue word for a ford.

      The buildings of Ath Aldaren were predominately double-storey timber structures. Occasionally a more ostentatious three-storey edifice marked the business and residence of a rich merchant. Though much bigger than Buide Cnoc, the town had developed out of a trading market and had no castle or fortifications.

      Before entering, Erin made an effort to tidy herself by running her fingers through her hair to establish some form of order and respectability. She straightened the rough sackcloth and brushed as much of the dirt as she could from her sore feet. The buff-coloured inn looked no different from the previous double-storey establishments; nevertheless, she sensed a friendly atmosphere the minute she set foot in the place. It was cleaner than the other public houses she had entered and a cosy fire burned in the hearth.

      A few customers were already seated and eating steaming bowls of porridge. A neatly dressed man stood behind the counter that served as a reception desk and a bar. Tidy rows of goblets, tankards, bottles and casks lined the clean shelves behind him. Good morrow, what brings such a lady of fashion to my humble abode? he said, looking her up and down.

      Smiling weakly, Erin greeted him and apologetically explained that she was not begging but would like to work for some money to buy clothes. Self-consciously she wiped her hands over the front of the sacking that served as a dress. She decided not to continue the lie about being robbed, leaving her forlorn appearance unexplained. He looked her up and down twice more, shook his head and yelled towards the kitchen. Cori, could you use another pair of hands?

      A fat middle-aged woman shuffled through the doorway. Aye, the Blessed Virgin knows that I could at that Mister ma Tair. What be your name girl?

      Erin had not thought of an alias but she suddenly realised that it would not be wise to use her own name. The first thing that came into her head was the flame mark on her backside and the second was how cold she felt. I am called Aed ma Uar, Mistress, she managed to say without hesitation.

      Aed was the word for fire in the Old Tongue and Uar meant cold. Most families added the ma before the name and she thought it had a nice ring to it. Then it occurred to her that Uar also meant cruel but it was too late to retract what had been said.

      An unusual name to be sure. No matter Aed, just call me Cori. Come along girl. Cori took her hand to pull her towards the kitchen.

      Nodding her head politely, Erin smiled at the innkeeper. Thank you Mister ma Tair. He acknowledged her gratitude with a dismissive wave and a smile.

      The warm kitchen was as clean and neat as the common room. Copper pots and cauldrons, suspended on hooks or chains, gleamed from one end of the room to the other. The smells of porridge and frying bacon, freshly baked bread and wood smoke filled the air.

      First let's get you some clothes and you'll be wanting to wash too I expect. I'll see to your face too. Leandra be a dear and fetch an old dress and sandals. This is Aed and she'll be working with you. We'll get you a new dress to replace the one you give her. The big woman smiled at Erin as Leandra went out the back door. While we're waiting you'd best have something to eat. You can't work on an empty stomach, she said while ladling a large dollop of oatmeal porridge into a wooden bowl.

      Erin accepted graciously and wolfed the hot gruel down. Cori gave her a tankard half-filled with milk as Leandra entered the kitchen. Glad to have you with us Aed. These should fit you. I think you're about the same size as me. She handed Erin a light woollen dress and a pair of stout sandals.

      Thank you Leandra, I'm glad to be here. Erin was grateful that the woman had noticed her need for footwear too. Cooing her sympathy, Cori applied a soothing salve to her bruised face, lacerated feet and the visible marks left by the ropes. No questions were asked so Erin had no need to lie. Cori was nobody's fool though. She had a shrewd idea about what had caused the injuries but she would bide her time and watch the girl.

      ~##~

      2 – The Great North Road

      Working in the jovial atmosphere of the 'Wheat and Chaff' as a chambermaid and helping in the kitchen, a month passed quickly. During this time, Erin kept her ears open to the gossip of the inn's regulars and travellers. Never a word was said about witches or strange happenings. She had tied her hair in a knot and tucked it under a bonnet, which changed her appearance enough to make her look like a dowdy antithesis of her former self. It took some getting used to the fact that she had only one dress and that was a far cry from the quality she had been used to. She began to think of herself as Aed Uar rather than Erin and she decided to drop the traditional ma prefix to the surname.

      Behind the mask of joviality, Cori was a astute woman with an eye for detail. She unobtrusively observed every move Aed made and slowly built on her first impressions of the girl. The big woman prided herself in being a good judge of character but she found it hard to assess Aed quickly.

      ***

      In Buide Cnoc, amongst a disquieted populace, the amadain pined for Erin. Despite the immense relief of knowing that she had escaped to safety, he blamed himself for not having been more forceful with her or approaching her parents to ensure that she was whisked out of harm's way. In the face of resentful antagonism he mocked the villagers and continued to champion Erin. Elatha's last word on the subject was a simple verse that led to his own expulsion.

      "Called a witch on charges so thin,

      Cursed by a blemish on her fair skin.

      By ducking, they would have her drown.

      By cunning, she fled our unfair town

      Applauded by none but the fool."

      ***

      The first time a customer fondled her backside, Aed was livid and had wished that she could freeze his beer. She soon found out how to avoid the debauched advances of drunks and not-so-drunk men. The worldly-wise Leandra had given her sound advice. Never get close enough, for long enough, for them to touch you.

      Aed quickly learned that the mores of a large town were quite different to those of a country village. Superstitions were still there but they played a significantly reduced role in daily life. People were far more concerned with conducting business and minding their own than bothering with gossip. She was surprised to learn that the innkeeper knew precious little about his neighbours and had no desire to be appraised of their situations.

      Her first windfall was a black leather pouch with several pennies and seven gold sovereigns that a traveller had left behind. Aed had dutifully handed it over to the innkeeper but he held his hands up in refusal. Finders keepers, girl. If the sorry fellow don't hark back and ask for it, then it be yours. With a meaningful glance towards the kitchen, he added. And don't you go telling anyone that you found it either, you hear. Nobody did return to claim the money.

      Cori astutely determined that Aed was not a working class girl and that she had been educated. It took little deduction to realise that the sacking had been out of place and that Aed was not accustomed to dealing with rough men. The big woman made every effort to make Aed comfortable and guided her in the ways of the world.

      It be none of my business and it be better that you don't tell me your story, because I've a mouth as big as my body. Cori laughed and shook the rolls of fat on her stomach with her pudgy hands to emphasise the point. But whatever you ran from will catch up with you sooner or later, so you'd better be ready to leave when needs be.

      When they were alone one day, Cori said, Girl, I believe that you have a gift. Nothing you've done you understand. It's just a feeling I have and my feelings are usually right. She held up a hand to silence Aed. When the time comes for you to leave, take the Great North Road to Dun Lia in the shadow of Tuired na Togail, the Pillar of Destruction. Seek out the 'Bull and Bush' inn and speak to Fay ma Noich. She's the innkeeper's wife and cook. You can tell her your secrets and she'll know what to do to help you.

      This conversation set Aed to thinking that perhaps the torrential downpour was more than coincidence and that she might have had a hand in it rather than divine help. After all, I am marked as a witch, she thought, is it then not possible that I am gifted as Cori seems to think.

      From time to time, a generous or drunk customer would give a tip for good service. Aed's pouch grew fat with coin. The ever-observant Cori showed her how to conceal it on her person with a clever shoulder strap. Don't keep all your eggs in one basket or all your money in one purse, she said and went on to explain how to make a money belt and where to sew emergency coin into clothing.

      A second windfall arose out of the misfortune of one of the inn's customers. An elderly traveller had died in his sleep. No means of identification could be found and he had not said where he came from or where he was headed. Mister ma Tair looked at his possessions, which comprised a sizeable purse, expensive clothing, some jewellery and a good horse. He shared the money amongst Cori and Leandra, sold the clothes and jewellery and gave the man's horse to Aed. The old fellow was given a decent burial.

      The innkeeper made time to teach Aed the rudiments of caring for the horse. Firm but gentle be how you show a horse who be master. Stroking be better than patting, 'cause horses take fright if there be sudden movement. Three or four cloves of garlic a day will keep the flies away. You can just give them like you would an apple. She'll eat them and rose hips too, but just one a day of those mind. He went on and explained the uses of various other herbs and symptoms of ailments that might occur and how best to treat them.

      Controlling a horse without reins is not something that everybody can do but Mister ma Tair was full of surprises. He taught Aed many of his tricks and he was pleased to discover that she could handle a slingshot. The long knife be a handy weapon against the thieves that be in the passes, he said and showed her the most effective way to use it. When the lessons were over, he made the knife a gift to her.

      Aed was ready to move on but she would have liked to stay to

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