Before Winter

CHAPTER 6

Spirits

The snap and crackle of flame created a small haven of warmth and safety as the rosy glow of the fire dappled the stone walls that sheltered them. For the first time Devin realized just how silent this valley was. Except for the constant flow of water over stone, there were no calls from night birds or the scramble of small animals searching for food. But most disturbing, there were no wolves here, at all.

An autumnal chill settled into the ravine long before dark and Devin was grateful for the blankets that Marcus had brought with him. Unfortunately, there were only two and Devin found himself sharing one with Lavender who cooed and patted it as though she had never seen a blanket before in her life. Her skin was covered with months of filth, her clothes so dirty that their original color had vanished forever and yet sitting in such close proximity to her, Devin was aware only of a pleasantly earthy, woodsy smell. It was as though Lavender herself had become part of her environment.

After they had roasted and eaten the two small rabbits Marcus had caught for dinner, she excused herself from the group and wandered off into the ruins of the town. Devin watched her until she blended into the earth and shadow around them. When she returned half an hour later she brought a square chunk of wood that had been cut from a larger piece. She laid the piece down, slid her legs and knees under the blanket with Devin and propped herself against the wall. From a little bag of fabric around her waist she withdrew a stone with a sharp edge and began removing the bark, humming a little song as she worked. The sweet, sticky smell of pine filled the campsite.

“Are you carving the Captain of the Guard?” Devin asked, referring to the head that had been lost.

Lavender looked up at him in surprise, her dark eyes fathomless in the dim light. “Amando died to save us,” she reminded him primly. “He has gone on to the ocean. I think he would have liked to be buried at sea. I just would have liked to see him off.”

Marcus laid another log on the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the air, his eyes on the two of them. “Then what are you carving?” he asked.

She didn’t look up, the stone still at work in her hand. Her voice was hushed. “I’m carving you, Marcus, so I won’t forget you.”

A slow smile spread across Marcus’ face as he sat back. “Thank you, Lavender.”

Lavender’s cheeks looked flushed in the firelight. “You said you would take me home. No one has ever promised to do that before.”

Devin felt a lump in his throat. He wondered what Lavender’s home was like now. Had it been destroyed or was it held by some rival family? Would there be anyone left there who remembered the little girl who had run off to hunt for her pony? She was wiry and flexible as a child but her skin was as wrinkled as a great-grandmother’s. Surely she had outlived all her family.

Devin volunteered to keep watch while Marcus slept. He gave Lavender the blanket, fearing the extra warmth might make him sleepy, and slid away from the wall. Putting the fire at his back, he looked out at the landscape clothed in night. The ruined buildings seemed to have weight and form even in the darkness and he thought he could chart their positions correctly although there was no moon. Lavender had hinted that this place was haunted and he could almost feel the panic of the villagers, as a wall of water and stone tore through their homes. There would have been no warning; those who sought shelter in buildings would have drowned as surely as those who had run. He imagined fathers carrying children on their shoulders being catapulted into the waves of water as their feet were swept out from under them, mothers with babes at their breasts drowning with their infants still clasped in their arms.

His eyes went involuntarily to the hill where the steeple still stood. It was possible that a man standing at that level might have survived, that the priest might have found safety in the height of that steeple even as the nave was ripped away below him and scattered by the flood waters. Obviously, someone had lived to tell the story. Lavender knew the tale as one that had been repeated even in her father’s hall, another province away. Was there a cemetery above the ruins of the town or had it too been swept away by the raging waters of the burst dam, leaving the remains of the ancient dead to mingle with the recently drowned? If a cemetery did still exist, did it contain the ancestors of the villagers or the victims of the flood? Tomorrow he would climb the slope and if he found a mass grave or a number of graves from the same day, he would try to find evidence of who might have buried the people who died in an instant during that disaster.

The fire had died down to just a bed of glowing coals, when Marcus woke to relieve him of guard duty. Devin felt strangely awake as though the village around him had so much left to tell him. He wondered if he would have felt the same way had Marcus stayed wakeful all evening to discuss it. Now, with Marcus beside him, he found he didn’t want to talk about it. It was difficult to explain the strange attraction this valley had suddenly acquired for him. He accepted Marcus’ blanket without comment and went to lie down beside Lavender, afraid of breaking the spell by speaking.

Devin barely closed his eyes as the village seemed to spring to life around him. There was the millhouse, the smithy, the bakery, and several dozen houses clustered along the stream. Women laughed and talked as they washed clothes in the flowing water and spread them on the rocks to dry. Men gathered at the smithy, where a stone marker proudly displayed the town’s name, discussing planting crops, last frosts, and spring rain. The air was warm and a few flowers poked out between the roots of some ancient oaks on the hillside. Three boys took turns swinging from a rope over the stream, ignoring their mothers’ admonitions to not fall in – the water was too cold. A baby sat by her mother’s side playing with her own bare toes, while a gray cat rubbed against her tiny back.

And high above them, he saw the priest running toward the steeple of the stone church. The clanging of the bell brought silence to the people below, then parents grabbed their children and began to flee up the slope. Rushing water and crashing stone drowned out the sound of the church bell clanging out its alarm. Water roared into the valley, sweeping everything and everyone from its path. And above the chaos of screams and death, the priest fell to his knees, the bell rope still in his hand. The insidious water filled the valley, tearing away the nave of the church and leaving no one alive in its wake but him.

Devin scrambled from his blanket. Stumbling partway down the stream, he ignored Marcus’ admonitions from behind him, till he found the spot he was looking for. Excavating centuries of leaves and dirt, he dug at the earth with his hands like a dog. At last, he uncovered an engraved stone near where the smithy used to stand. Carrying it back to the feeble light of the fire, he brushed at the clinging earth to uncover the letters on it with dirt-encrusted hands.

“This was the village of Albion,” Devin said reverently, sitting back on his heels. “May its villagers rest in peace.” He looked up to see tears streaming down Lavender’s face and realized his own eyes were wet, too.

CHAPTER 7

Albion

Marcus directed him back to the fire as he stood shivering, the stone clutched in his hands. “How did you know where to find it?” he asked, throwing more wood on the fire and placing his own blanket over Devin’s shoulders.

Devin sat, looking at him stupidly, as though he had found Marcus and Lavender existing in the wrong century. “I dreamed it … just now … right after I fell asleep.”

“You’ve been asleep for hours,” Marcus said, sitting back on his heels.

Devin saw it was true: the first rosy light of dawn lit the eastern horizon, touching the fog rising from the streambed. Lavender sat, clenching her blanket to her chest. “I didn’t mean to startle either of you,” he said. “I dreamed about Albion and the villagers. It was as though I was there among them. When I woke, I felt that finding the stone was the only way to substantiate what I’d seen.”

Marcus eased the stone from his hands and cleaned it off with a handful of leaves. The letters had been cut by an expert stone mason, not even water and centuries of burial in mud had diminished the precise word chiseled into the rock. Marcus sat back against a tree trunk. “I haven’t ever heard of Albion, have you?”

Devin shook his head. “I don’t remember the name from the Archives. I don’t even have a clue as to how long ago these people perished or why. If my dream actually holds some truth, then the priest was the only one who survived. He ran to ring the church bell to warn them but it was already too late. People were washed away in seconds.”

Lavender sat listening, her eyes as large and round as a child’s. “Do you know the name of the man who ordered this?” she asked softly.

“I don’t,” Devin said. “I’m sorry. It was as though for a moment I glimpsed the everyday life of this village and then in an instant it was gone, washed downstream in a swirling chaotic flood of adults, children, homes, and animals. Dear God, rest their souls. What a way to die!” He rubbed a hand over his eyes, realizing that in his dream everything had seemed crystal clear; now that he was awake his eyes were blurry again. “I want to explore what’s left of the church. Can we go now?”

Marcus’ movements were slow and studied as he heated water in a small pan. “Let’s eat first. We never know when we may have to hide suddenly. The fire is an advantage we aren’t often blessed with and we should use it.”

Devin stood up restlessly, glancing at Lavender who was whispering to the head of one of her brothers. God, he thought, they were all going mad! Marcus was the only sane one among them. He walked along the streambed to escape Lavender’s insane mutterings, pacing off the buildings he remembered from his dream. There had been a small bridge across from the baker’s, spanning the flow of the stream below the dam. There was no sign of it now, though he searched for stone pilings on both sides of the water, soaking his boots in the process.

A few foundations remained, many of them filled with water from recent rainfall. These small stone squares that had supported homes and shops were most apt to contain small artifacts that chronicled the inhabitants’ lives. He sifted through dirt with his hands at the millhouse, where the millstone still stood, tilted on its side, resting on a random stone that had been flung from the center of the dam. He found a knife, its blade nearly rusted away, and the remains of the rotted rim of a wooden bowl. There was nothing personal here, nothing that spoke of the hopes and fears of the people who had lived out their lives under the shadow of the dam. They had, apparently, never feared death by drowning. How long had the dam stood before it was sabotaged?

“Devin!” Marcus called.

Devin looked back and saw that Lavender was already consuming something out of a cup. No doubt they would have to share. There seemed no need to rush when she was already occupied with breakfast. He made his way back slowly, mentally placing each building where it had stood in his dream. He joined Marcus just as Lavender finished.

“Will there be more?” she asked, patting the heads she had gathered in her skirt. “We are still hungry.”

“There is only enough for each of us to have a cup,” Marcus replied.

“What is it?” Devin asked, looking suspiciously at the pan.

“Stew,” Marcus answered, “from one very small fish.”

“She can have mine,” Devin offered.

Marcus quelled Lavender’s eager smile with one word. “No! We have a long way to go and we all need to eat if we are going to make it home.”

“Home?” Devin asked. It was a strange choice of words for Marcus. Devin would be happy to reach La Paix but Marcus obviously had greater expectations.

Marcus scooped up a cup of the foamy stew and handed it to him. “Winter will be upon us before you know it, Devin; autumn is short in the mountains. We can’t go by ship back to Coreé. We have to cross the mountains into Vienne and it has to be done soon. We must reach Coreé before winter.”

“Or it will be too late?” Devin added. The words were implicit. Not only did winter’s snow and ice hang over them ominously, but his father’s life depended on them arriving in Coreé quickly. René Forneaux’s power was growing among Council members. Already, he was recruiting men from Vincent Roché’s personal guard and it was evident that he was planning a takeover soon.

Marcus didn’t answer. His eyes were lined, his face pinched with worry. His allegiance lay first with Chancellor Roché, with his son second. Devin could only imagine the conflicted emotions he must be feeling right now.

Devin finished the tasteless stew and handed the cup to Marcus who rinsed it in the stream before filling it with the dregs from the pot for his own meal. “I’m going up to look at the ruins of the church,” Devin said, standing.

“Sit,” Marcus said quietly. “Let me finish my breakfast. We’ll all go together.”

“We’re wasting time,” Devin protested.

“Sit,” Marcus repeated. “There is nothing there that hasn’t been waiting for centuries. Ten minutes more will make no difference.”

Devin flopped down beside the fire, watching Lavender endlessly sort her collection of heads. He swore if they reached La Paix, he would have one of the seamstresses design an apron with a pocket for each one. Maybe if Lavender knew each head was safe and securely tucked away in its own little compartment she would cease counting and playing with them. He knew he shouldn’t let her behavior bother him but it did. This valley seemed laden with the hundred ghosts of its past residents; he didn’t need Lavender’s creepy heads reminding him of all the ghosts that seemed to travel in her wake, too.

Marcus took his time eating, washed his cup and the small pot he’d used to cook their stew in, and finally began to pack their things.

“We’re not coming back?” Devin asked, his mind still on his exploration of the ruined church.

“I see no reason to,” Marcus replied. “Should the tunnels beneath the church look promising, we won’t have any reason to return. If not, we’ll continue up and over the hill. This valley has turned south and we need to go east to La Paix.”

Devin squatted down and drew a quick diagram on the wet earth near the stream. “The tunnels under the church don’t connect to the ones on the map,” he said after a moment. “I should have realized that before.”

Marcus looked at him sharply. “How do you know that?”

Devin gestured at his drawing. “I memorized the map.”

Marcus took a step closer. “The one in the Bishop’s Book?”

Devin nodded.

“How long did that take you?” Marcus asked.

“Not long,” Devin replied. “I only have to see a page for a moment or so and I remember all of it.”

Marcus raised his eyebrows. “No wonder school was so easy for you. It seems you have an unfair advantage.”

“Unfair, perhaps,” Devin replied, “but quite useful in this instance, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps,” Marcus agreed. “But then there is no reason for us to pursue these tunnels below the church.”

Devin jumped to his feet, his hands shaking. “Please, allow me to take just a few minutes.”

Marcus’ gaze was wary. “You seem to be unusually agitated about this.”

Devin attempted to still his hands. “I know and I can’t explain it. It feels strangely important. It’s almost as though I lived through this massacre last night.” He glanced across the valley, tendrils of mist rising from the water and weaving through the tree branches above. “Can’t you feel it? It’s as though this valley is haunted by all the souls of those who lost their lives.”

Marcus was slow in answering. “I’ll admit I feel something but it makes me want to leave as soon as possible. Whatever happened here has nothing to do with us.”

“But don’t you see, it might?” Devin said. “I feel as though all of this is connected in some huge web of treachery that we have only just begun to untangle. We cannot fight it unless we have all the information we need.”

“And you expect to find it here?” Marcus pressed him.

“Perhaps,” Devin said desperately. “Perhaps not, but I need to look.”

Marcus exhaled. “Go on then.”

Devin scrambled up the incline toward the ruins of the stone church, finding handholds in the twisted roots of the ancient oaks. Behind him, he heard voices, muted and strange and then all of a sudden around him he heard the cries of people being yanked from their precarious holds by water blasting through their peaceful little valley. He dropped to his knees, his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the sound of women and children screaming for help and the anguished cries of men, unable to aid their families, as they were swept away themselves.

Marcus latched onto Devin’s shoulders and shook him. Devin focused on Marcus’ face and the undisturbed forest around them. The voices were gone, hushed as absolutely as though they had … died.

“Devin!” Marcus blustered. “You’re scaring me! What on earth is the matter?”

Devin wiped his dirty hands on his trousers. He bit his lip, his breaths coming in uneasy wheezes. “You didn’t hear it?”

“Hear what?” Marcus asked. “All I heard was you taking off up this hill as though the devil himself were after you.”

Devin shook his head. “I heard their voices again,” he said, looking at the earth in front of him. “I heard them dying, Marcus. It was as though if I didn’t climb the hill in time, I’d drown, too.”

Marcus, who didn’t quail at facing a dozen armed men, crumpled. He turned Devin’s head toward him, one hand reaching to lift the bandage over his temple. “Did I do this?” he asked, examining the injury. “Is this some side effect from the gunshot wound?”

“I don’t think so,” Devin replied. “It’s something about this place. It’s as though I’m having a waking dream. It’s not your fault, Marcus. None of this is.”

“We need to get out of here, Devin,” Marcus said, pulling him upright. “Something’s not right and I’m not going to risk your life by staying here a minute longer than necessary.”

“But it is necessary,” Devin told him. “There is something here that we need to know, something important. Those voices simply drove me upward. The answer is in that church or below it and we need to find it before we leave.” He pulled away, leaving Marcus and Lavender to climb the slope after him through the mist and shafts of sunlight.

CHAPTER 8

The Key

Devin halted at a chasm that yawned open where the nave of the church had been. Near the altar, which hung suspended above the abyss, a spiral of mossy stone steps wound downward, disappearing into the darkness below.

Lavender came to stand beside him, humming some tuneless lullaby as she rocked one of her brothers’ heads in her arms. “The mossy steps,” she pointed out proudly, as though she had created them herself.

“What’s down there?” Marcus asked her.