Page 31

The Escort from Avalon

Maiwenn knew she had to act quickly. From the sound of the horses’ hooves, there were several riders at least, so it wasn’t just Bran and Dee.

She raced into the woods behind the cottage, her heart pounding furiously, praying that the Goddess would protect her beloved églantine.

Drawing from the deep well of her newly reawakened magic, the Green Fairy of the Hazelwood Forest— la Fée Verte de la Forêt —summoned her loyal woodland creatures.

****

Issylte was returning to the cottage, a basket of wild plums on her arm—savoring the sweet taste of the tarte aux mirabelles that Tatie would make for dessert—when she noticed a trail of pink flowers leading away from her normal route home.

Intrigued, knowing that the Little Folk had left them for her, she followed the églantines to the same area of hazelwood branches covered with vines where she had first glimpsed the hidden cottage four years ago.

She knew immediately that something was wrong. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her legs were wobbly and weak.

The hens were squawking, their wings flapping wildly. Florette was bleating madly, running around in circles at the side of the cottage. Issylte’s stomach dropped, along with the basket of mirabelle plums from her arm.

She couldn’t see any horses, yet the grassy area in front of the cottage was churned up by the imprint of many hooves. Huge clumps of dark mud were scattered everywhere near the entrance door. Dear Goddess, where is Tatie ? A shiver of dread crept up her spine. I must help her!

Just as she was about to race to the cottage, a strong hand clamped over her mouth from behind.

A heavily muscled arm pulled her back against a chest as hard as the trunk of oak.

Panicked, Issylte struggled to break free, but his grip was like iron.

A stern, deep voice spoke quietly into her left ear.

“Do not cry out. I will not harm you. We are the escort from Avalon.”

Issylte nodded in bewilderment. Her weakened legs could barely support her weight. Her mouth was bone dry. I have to help Tatie!

“The queen’s men are in the cottage right now. Waiting for you to return. They have slain Maiwenn, her grandson, and his foolish wife who betrayed you.”

Issylte’s legs gave out. The strong arm supported her; the hand clamped over her mouth muffled her guttural moan.

He spoke sternly into her good ear. “You must be silent. The queen’s guards will hear you.”

Issylte nodded grimly. He relaxed the grip over her mouth ever so slightly. She was sick to her stomach. Could she vomit through his hand?

“Maiwenn summoned the Little Folk to leave the trail of flowers. To draw you here, so that I could intercept you before you reached the cottage. It was her last act— to save you.”

Issylte collapsed in his arms, grief blinding her vision. Tatie! No….

The escort lowered his voice in sorrow. “We saw the three bodies behind the cottage. There is nothing you can do. We must leave immediately. The queen knows that you live. Her knights are hunting for you as we speak.” Issylte’s heart thumped in her throat.

He withdrew his arms from the hold which had pinned her to his chest. Issylte turned numbly to face the rider from Avalon who towered over her. She raised her face up to him with a blank stare.

A dark felt hat covered most of his face. Like a huntsman himself. Frantically, Issylte raked her eyes over the wooded area behind him. Were the queen’s guards in the forest? Where could she run?

“If we are questioned, you are my wife Petra and I am your husband Odrec. We are booking passage to Cornwall from the port of Sligeach.”

Before she could respond—or even blink—he lifted her effortlessly onto a horse and leapt up behind her. He motioned to six other riders hidden among the nearby trees. The escort reined his horse and dashed off into the forest, away from the beloved cottage.

Issylte was shivering in the saddle. The rider held her tight, his arms wrapped around her to grip the reins. They thundered through the thick forest towards the setting sun in the west.

Tatie is dead? Bran, too? And Dee betrayed us ? Too stunned to even cry, her body trembling in shock, Issylte sat numbly before the horseman as they galloped towards the coast.

Suddenly, Odrec raised a fist in warning.

The riders abruptly halted their horses and hid in a thicket as a dozen armed knights went barreling past. The queen’s huntsmen.

Just like Lords Cian and Bolduc, who’d been ordered to kill her.

She remembered the terrifying ordeal in the forest. Cutting out the heart of a stag.

And now, a dozen more were hunting her. Like prey.

A mouse hunted by swarms of hawks. She shivered uncontrollably as Odrec held her tight.

After a few moments, her escorts continued through the dense forest, towards the village of Sligeach and the sea.

Yet, instead of riding directly into the village, Odrec and his men halted near the lake where Issylte had always fished with Maiwenn.

At the sight of the beloved Lough Gill where she and Tatie had caught so many fish, Issylte sobbed into her hands and moaned from the pit of her stomach.

He spoke gently into her ear. “Princess, we stop here for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

Odrec dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to one of his men with a nod that said, “ guard the princess.” He whistled—a bird call—and after a moment, received a similar signal in response.

Issylte wiped her eyes with a fold of her dress and glanced up to see a man and a woman emerge from the forest on horseback.

They approached the escorts and dismounted.

Odrec walked over to them, and the three conferred in hushed voices.

He returned to Issylte. “My lady, come with me.”

He gently pulled her from the horse, his strong hands under her arms, and placed her on the ground. Odrec gestured to one of his men, who dismounted his own horse, and came to Issylte’s side. To stand guard. As if I could run away! she thought bitterly.

Odrec returned to the couple, and as Issylte watched, the woman removed her cloak, revealing pale blond hair, similar to her own. Issylte examined Odrec, able to see him more clearly now in the setting sun.

He is enormous! Issylte noticed that her escort stood a whole head taller than the lord who was traveling with the blond lady.

Odrec’s entire body was as huge as an oak—a massive chest, expansive shoulders, and thick, muscular legs.

His jawline was square, his neck corded with muscle, his light skin burnished gold from the summer sun.

Under his hat, Odrec’s hair was a pale, silvery blond, tied back at the nape of his neck with a leather cord.

His features were sharp and angular, like those of a warrior.

A bow and a quiver of arrows were on his back, like the other riders in her escort; all were armed with intricately carved swords sheathed in elaborate scabbards as well.

Issylte glanced at the six men who accompanied Odrec.

All were of the same enormous height and bulk as their leader, but he was the only blond among them.

Her escort returned, carrying the woman’s cape over his arm. “Please give me your cloak, Princess. Don this one instead.”

As she complied, Odrec gestured to the woman and her companion.

“This couple will book passage on a ship to Cornwall, departing with the tide. When the queen’s knights discover that a young blond woman wearing your cloak set sail to Britain, her guards will pursue a false path, enabling us to take a different route to Avalon. ”

Issylte fastened the borrowed cloak. “If we are interrogated, you must say that my name is Odrec, and that you are my wife, Petra, as I instructed. But I want you to know that my true name is Ronan.”

He returned to the couple, handing Issylte’s dark green cloak to the blond passenger, who spread it across her shoulders.

The woman fastened the hood under her chin and covered her light hair.

Ronan gave further instructions to the gentleman, who nodded affirmatively as the couple mounted their horses.

Ronan waved goodbye and walked back to Issylte as the couple rode off towards the village of Sligeach.

With a quick nod to his men, who mounted their horses in response, Ronan informed Issylte of their plan.

“We shall head south, deep into the forest. From there, we ride west to the coast where a small boat will transport us to my ship.” He lifted Issylte back into the saddle, then mounted behind her.

“The trip to Avalon will take three weeks. Have you ever sailed before?”

Issylte had never left Ireland and had never been on a ship. She shook her head. She was numb and empty inside. Like her heart had left her chest.

“The voyage at sea can be rough. If you are ill, come up from your quarters to the top level of the ship—the deck—and stare out towards the horizon. The fresh air will help.” Ronan nudged his horse, and they headed south, with two riders ahead of them, two behind, and one on either side.

Issylte was drowning in grief. She couldn’t swallow, her throat was so tight.

A suffocating weight squeezed her heart; she couldn’t breathe.

The pain was too heavy to bear. Tatie is dead because of me.

And Bran and Dee. If I had never come to the cottage, they would all still be alive.

It is my fault. Tatie, how can I live without you, too?

I’ve lost my father, Gigi, Luna…and now you? Oh, Tatie…

She wept the whole way to the coast—her face blotchy, her eyes nearly swollen shut. Her nose was so congested she had to breathe through her mouth. Her temples were pounding, her muscles twitching. The queen’s men could be anywhere. This time, they’ll bring her my head.

After what seemed like hours riding through the darkening forest, the travelers arrived at a port where several ships were harbored along two docks, near a few wooden buildings and an inn.

Ronan and his men stopped their horses at the edge of the forest and dismounted.

He helped Issylte to the ground as well.

She collapsed in a heap among the leaves.

Ronan emitted another bird call whistle and waited for the return signal.

A group of eight woodland creatures short in stature, with dark wizened skin, long black hair, and homespun clothing— the Little Folk —emerged from the woods.

Conferring quietly with Ronan, the leader of the forest creatures turned to his brethren and motioned for them to approach the riders from Avalon.

All six members of Issylte’s escort joined Ronan in handing their horses to the woodland creatures, who led the animals quietly away into the forest.

Ronan helped Issylte to her feet. She brushed the leaves off her dress and stood unsteadily. She could barely see, her eyes were so swollen.

“Those men will sell the horses in the neighboring village. The animals are payment for the services they rendered to Maiwenn, to the Lady of the Lake Viviane, and to us, her escort from Avalon.”

He took her hand and said gently, “This way, Princess.” Ronan led her to the water’s edge where a boatman awaited.

Issylte’s enormous escort seated her on the small vessel, then climbed aboard with his six men, taking up oars.

They rowed the boat through a series of tributaries toward the sea-worthy ship that awaited them just offshore.

Issylte and her escorts climbed up the rope ladder from their small boat into the larger vessel which would sail west into the Atlantic Ocean and south to Avalon.

As the crew hoisted the small boat onto the deck of the larger one, Ronan gave her a tour of the ship, indicating her quarters below deck.

He showed her where the ship’s crew would prepare and serve their meals, and where he and the escort from Avalon would be sleeping.

Alone in her cabin, Issylte watched her beloved Ireland disappear in the distance. Wracking sobs choked her; grief blurred her vision. The ship was taking her away from all that she loved.

Oh, Tatie! If it were not for me, you would still be in your beautiful cottage, collecting herbs and tending the animals… The four plump hens and sweet little Florette. A heaviness smothered her.

If I had not come to your cottage—you, Bran and Dee would all still be alive! It is all my fault.

She fell onto her bed, smothering her face in the pillow. How could she help her father now that she was no longer in Ireland? How could she ever see Gigi again? And she would never see Tatie again. Ever. She struggled to catch her breath.

The queen now knew she was still alive. She would hunt her down and kill her. Like she’d already tried to do. Twice. Issylte shivered, the blood freezing in her veins.

The icy cold hands of her stepmother tingled up her arms, leeching her strength. The queen would find her. Even in Avalon. Issylte shook with numbing cold.

And, as the strong ocean winds carried the ship across the endless blue sea, Issylte—wracked with sobs, drowning in grief and guilt—wept and retched all the way to Avalon.